


One More Sad Song

by mundaneone



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundaneone/pseuds/mundaneone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck gets a job at the Hummel garage and learns a hell of a lot more than how to fix an engine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One More Sad Song is a multi-part chronical that parallels the first thirteen episodes of Glee. References to events in those episodes occur quite frequently to provide a time-line of sorts. This story was written before the back nine premiered. It does not mesh with any of the later episodes at all. Both of my betas did a great job and all remaining errors are my own.
> 
> Betas: ru_salki99 and spookykat
> 
> Originally posted on LJ on 01/12/10

When Kurt’s mom died, neither he nor his dad really knew what to do. Kurt was really too young to understand what death really meant. Nobody said it like that to him. It was always, “she went away,” or “she’s out of pain,” or “she’s in a better place.” Like maybe she could come back. But it wasn’t long before he realized she’d never be back.

  
They had known it was coming of course. The cancer had stripped her soul away at an agonizingly slow pace and no one had been able to stop it. Kurt remembered nights spent sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to his father and staring at this person who had once been his mother. Sometimes she forgot who they were, Kurt more often than his father.

  
“Who are you, little boy?” she would say looking at him with empty eyes and a weak smile.

Kurt hadn’t understood -couldn’t understand- what the cancer was doing to her brain; hadn’t understood that it wasn’t her fault or his. All he had known was that his mommy was sick and she didn’t remember who he was anymore.

  
In the end, she hadn’t known who either of them was, but his Dad had held her hand ‘till she had passed anyway. Kurt remembers how he had sat there beside his father, curled up in one of those uncomfortable chairs with his stuffed pink bunny, and watched this shell of a woman who used to be his mother stare at them with frightened eyes. It had scared him, and he hadn’t understood what was happening. And his father, his large unshakable father, had been crying and that had terrified Kurt more than anything because he had never seen him cry before.

  
After that things didn’t change much. Kurt’s dad had floated around the house like a ghost, had looked as empty and dead as his mother had been. It broke Kurt’s young heart. It was like he had lost both of his parents on the same day. His father just shut down and suddenly Kurt had to grow up. He found himself making their meals, leaving his father a serving in the fridge in case he remembered to eat. He started watching shows with happy families, with shining, beautiful moms who cooked dinner for her two children (it was always two, a boy and a girl) and her husband. He would watch and see how happy they all were. And Kurt wanted. He wanted so badly he would curl up on his bed, hug his bunny and cry for his mother, his father, anyone. But no one ever came and Kurt learned very quickly that no one ever would.

A few years passed that way, Kurt sharing his big house with two ghosts. That is until one day his father came downstairs while Kurt made their breakfast (he was still too short to reach the stove without the footstool and his mother’s apron hung nearly to the floor so that he nearly trips when he turns) and announced that they’re moving. Kurt just sort of nodded because he didn’t know what else he could do.

They put the house on the market and started packing their things in boxes. They started with the community rooms first, which included the items in the living room, the bathrooms, and the kitchen. It was only a little painful at first, packing up the dishes that grandma had given Kurt’s mother on her wedding day, the couch they had spent movie nights on. Every inch was a memory, but somehow with the common rooms, it didn’t sting quite as much.

  
The community rooms had been difficult, but Kurt’s own bedroom, however, was nearly unbearable. Every little thing in there had a connection to his mother. The rocking chair that he imagined she sat while he was an infant still remained in the corner, the baby blankets were still in the closets along with the toys, including his beloved pink rabbit.

  
But that’s nothing compared to when they start on the sad, impossible task of packing his mother’s things.

If Kurt’s room had been nearly unbearable, the master bedroom was excruciating. But the hardest of all had to be the guest bedroom she moved into during the final stages of her illness, so they save hers for last.

  
They stood in front of her closet, side by side, for a long moment just staring at it, because they know they wouldn’t be taking everything with them.

  
They both knew that this is the moment when they finally had to face saying goodbye. It was hard deciding what to keep and what to give away. Kurt has a cousin a few towns over, a girl named Katrina. After a long, hard look at his wife’s jewelry he decided that Katrina should probably get it when she’s old enough. Or he reasoned it would be something for Kurt to give his own wife one day or maybe his daughter. “Every girl should have a piece of her grandmother’s jewelry,” his father had argued. They don’t know but the jewelry stayed.

The clothes were by far the hardest, because every item smelled of her. Not that dead-dying-hospital smell but her. Kurt curled up with a fuzzy sweater and fell asleep crying while his father held a silk blouse in his hands for what seemed like hours. It took them days, but eventually the clothes were all packed away. They’re going to donate them. Everything was going to Good Will, all but a few articles neither of them had been able to part with: her favorite sweater, her wedding dress, the jacket her father had given her for her birthday when she was nineteen and full of dreams.

His mother kept journals and Kurt never knew why, but he was glad for them now. There were boxes jam-packed with pages full of her sort of messy handwriting, dating back to when she had still been in high school. There were journals for when she met his father, while she was pregnant with him, journals of their lives together. Kurt and his father took a pile of them and sit in the recliner together with them, Kurt in his father’s lap and listening to his voice as Kurt learned about the woman who used to be his mother. When they were done with them, his father put them all back inside their boxes and Kurt hasn’t seen them since. A few years later, Kurt had forgotten all about them; had forgotten their words and most of all, had forgotten the woman they had told him all about.

  
They packed all the pictures into a box, kissing each of them once before it went in. There was bubble wrap everywhere, keeping every single image as safe as possible. Their new house had an attic. The photos remain there, collecting dust. They agreed on their favorite to leave out in the living room. His mother is in white and she’s smiling. She looks like the angel she is now. They each chose a picture of their own for their rooms, neither able to look at the other as they do. The one Kurt picks has him in it. He’s small, a roly-poly baby and she’s holding him and looking at him like she’s never seen anything so wonderful in the whole world. Kurt wanted to hold onto that image for as long as he lived.

  
When the house was all packed up, they get got into the car and they drove away. Kurt didn’t wear his seatbelt, instead he sat up in the backseat and watched as the house got smaller and smaller until they turn down another street, and it’s gone. His father remained silent until he looked in the rearview mirror and told Kurt to put his seatbelt on.

  
The new house is a few neighborhoods over. It has a lawn and a stone walkway to the front door. Kurt just sat on the sidewalk with his pink bunny as his father and the movers bring box after box into the house. A group of children about his age were playing in the front yard a few houses down. They eye him curiously, and Kurt looks at them but he doesn’t want to say hello. None of them come over anyway so he just watches as the boxes are placed where they are meant to go.  
Words like “Kitchen,” “Bathroom,” “Kurt,” “Dad,” were written on the tops in sharp black lines indicating where they belong.

  
The playing children stopped what they were doing and watched. Kurt hates them suddenly, and for no real reason except he’s sure they all still have their mommies and their daddies and he doesn’t. He’s different and he knows they can tell. That they think that different means strange. Kurt’s only seven and he knows that other children will always think of him that way because his mom is dead and she’d never coming back. He stands up and goes inside, sits on the recliner and watches as this new place becomes his new home.

  
They have dinner from Mario’s, a local pizzeria, on paper plates. They’re quiet and his father is staring at the dinner table like it holds the secrets to the universe. Kurt just scrutinizes his slice of pizza and picks off the parts he doesn’t like. Out of the blue, his dad says, “Maybe we should get new furniture.”

  
And they do.

  
They buy all new things, get rid of everything but the items that have been in their family for generations. It takes him a while, but Kurt eventually figures out that they’re trying to erase his mother—get rid of her presence as much as possible.

  
The only thing left of her in this house is her photo and the two of them. It’s sad and it hurts and Kurt cries himself to sleep again when he realizes he can no longer feel his mother around him. She’s gone, really gone. There are no memories of her in this place because she’s never been here. She’s never even seen it.  
They’re alone.

  
Kurt eventually met the children from across the street. But none of them seemed all that interested in him and he shared their disinterest. He doesn’t need them, anyway. But one of the mothers either doesn’t notice or she doesn’t care.

  
She invited Kurt over to her son’s eighth birthday party. It hurt and he knows she didn’t mean it to, but he hasn’t had a birthday party since he was five. His mother started getting sick a month later. Kurt sat in the kitchen with the mother, watched her decorate her own son’s cake. She looked at him every once and a while, saw how he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She didn’t shoo him away though and when his Dad came for him. Kurt hugged her really tightly and wished her hair was a shade lighter, a bit more wavy…like his mother’s was.

  
He wishes he had his mother.

  
She came by their house later for a visit, and he hears her talking to his father in hushed voices in the living room. She tells him about how he had watched her in the kitchen. How it had seemed odd, how he hadn’t wanted to play with the other children.

  
“My wife passed a few years ago. He misses his mother,” is all his father said, and she put her pretty, soft, mommy-hands to her lips and said she’s so sorry, told his father that Kurt could come over any time he wanted.

  
He does.

  
He walked across the street and sits with her, watching her do mom things any chance he got. He loved how she hums while she works, he thought he had a memory of his mom doing that, but he can’t really remember anymore. She smiles at him a lot, looks up from what she’s doing to give him a soft smile and Kurt loved her.

  
But it wasn’t long before things changed and Kurt’s world got turned upside down again.

  
Her husband got a job in another state a year later and they all moved away. Kurt could do nothing but watch them from the sidewalk in front of his house. Before she left, though, she said goodbye, kissed him on the forehead and told him she loves him.

  
It had been a long time since anyone told him that. He knew his dad loved him, of course, but it was like pulling teeth trying to get his dad to talk about anything at all. If it had been under any other circumstance, those words would’ve put him over the moon, but that night, they were devastating. Another woman who loved him was leaving. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  
That night, Kurt’s eyes were dry, his tears all used up so he can’t even cry.

  
After that, Kurt stopped thinking about how he doesn’t have a mother, pushes it down into the pit of his gut and swallows the foul feelings that rise up every time he does. Oh, he still kisses her picture goodnight before he falls asleep but it’s more of a ritual than anything else. He no longer looks at other mothers with their children and that deep, painful want was gone.

  
By the time he’d turned ten years old he didn’t think about her anymore, which was just as well because he didn’t remember her anymore either. If it weren’t for the picture by his bed and the one hanging in the living room he wouldn’t even remember what she looked like. But he couldn’t remember how she smelled, or what her voice sounded like. He couldn’t remember if she made waffles or pancakes, wore dresses or jeans.  
He doesn’t remember.

  
When he turned eleven, Kurt decides he wants to live in the basement. His dad looks up at him from over his morning paper when Kurt asks, eyes steady and calculating. His dad’s never been a very talkative guy, but he still hasn’t rebuilt himself since his wife’s death. Not that Kurt can actually tell. As far as he knows, his father’s always been this stoic and sometimes scary person. His dad just sat there staring for a long moment before he nodded, slow and hesitant like he’s still thinking it over even as he agreed.

  
“Sure,” he said. “We can set it up for you.” He eyed Kurt again, took in how even now Kurt’s hair is perfect, how he dresses well for a man let alone a boy his age. “It’ll be good for you to have the privacy when you’re older.” Kurt knew that his father was imagining his son bringing some young girl home with him, imagines stolen kisses in a basement bachelor pad. He doesn’t have much hope for that, though, but still, a father can dream.

  
It became their project for the next several weeks. They moved all the boxes and random crap up to the attic. Neither of them looked at the boxes that held his mother’s old belongings. Kurt had forgotten they’re even there anyway. As they got further and further along, his Dad gets more excited. He started talking about construction and layouts. Kurt smiled and nodded, not really following what he was talking about, but excited that his Dad’s excited about something, something Kurt was involved in. Kurt was more into colors (white) and he was imagining how he was going to decorate it at the moment, but he played along, acting like he knows what his Dad is talking about.

  
It was great, the most fun Kurt’s had in a long while. After a day of measuring and drawing lines, hours of sawing and drilling and gallons of paint being purchased they plop down on the couch, his Dad all huge and sprawled out like a giant teddy-bear, while Kurt curled up on his side of the couch. His Dad will drink a beer and Kurt will sip at a Diet Pepsi and they both watched TV together. It was always sports or action flicks, never anything that Kurt finds interesting but he enjoyed being able to sit with his father and share that feeling of accomplishment for a while.

  
Once the hard labor part was over and done with and the walls were all painted, Kurt gathered up as many home decorating magazines as he could get his young hands on and picked out the furniture he’d like. He studied designs and patterns, and without really thinking about it builds up his personal aesthetic.  When they were all done they stood in his new room to take it all in. Kurt knew that his dad didn’t really get it but they both beamed like it was the single greatest thing they’d ever done. Kurt feels felt great, proud, accomplished. It was a great feeling, one that his father had apparently been missing for some time.

So, he started collecting projects like baseball cards. The kitchen was redone, complete with all new appliances and a new coat of paint, a color that Kurt got to choose. When he finished that he did the bathrooms. Then he fixed up the garage. After that, he purchased a total wreck of a car and proceeded to fix it up, buying parts and spending hours under it or bent in half over the hood.

  
And when he finished all of that, his father just stood in the backyard. He stood there staring for a long time, so long that Kurt, who turned twelve a few weeks before, came outside and joined him.

  
“I think we’ll get a pool put in,” his father announced eventually, before turning and going back inside.

  
Kurt watched him go, stared at the door for a long moment before returning his eyes to the beautiful green grass before him, trying to imagine a pool where there’s only lawn. They’d never had a pool before and Kurt doesn’t even know how to swim. But he watched his dad, watched how he smiles whenever he has a project to keep him occupied and he lets his doubts slide away.

  
They spent hours at the kitchen table with magazines, blueprints and all the legal paperwork that Kurt doesn’t understand but, then, he doesn’t need to. They looked at all the designs that a pool can come in. They marveled at all the weird little things they can include (tiled designs at the bottom, lights, slides and diving boards, and heaters) before deciding on the perfect pool. It’s a swimmer’s pool, all long sleek lines with distance markers. Kurt thinks it looks nice but he can tell his dad is hoping Kurt may want to take up swimming as a sport, something competitive, a sport with events that he could go to and cheer at.

  
“You have the body for it,” his Dad told him, “You’d be amazing,” And it’s the closest thing to praise that Kurt can remember ever hearing from his father.  
He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted, needed, craved it until he’d heard it. And that was how Kurt wound up going to the YMCA every day after school to take swimming lessons while his Dad and the pool company work in the backyard.

  
He’d be great; he’d be the best. He’d finally have a father who’s proud of him or he’d drown in the pool trying.

  
He never told his father what he’s doing so he’d never be asked to explain the reason for it. And in the end it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

  
It wasn’t like he could go out for a swim team or anything. Where Kurt will go to high school, there isn’t one for him to join and so Kurt will keep his skills in the water to himself. Not that Kurt is aware of that now, he’s not omnipotent. And so he went everyday.

  
And it’s there, in that deep beautiful pool that was when Kurt first saw Noah Puckerman.

  
Kurt was climbing out of the pool after a set (his best times yet!) and busy thinking about how his own pool was almost finished and soon he won’t have to come here every time he wants to go swimming when he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye. No one ever watched him before and it caught Kurt off guard, made him stand there and gape, ironically, like a fish out of water.

  
Kurt expected his observer to say something, like, explain why he’s there or introduce himself. Instead, he does did neither, just pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on and walking off, leaving Kurt staring after him and very confused.

  
The next time he was at the pool, the other boy is there again. Kurt blinked in surprise; he had never seen the boy before their last encounter and he had honestly not expected to see him again. But Kurt had arrived after this strange new other boy and he wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, he’d been practicing in this pool for over a month now, and the two-year-old inside of him wanted to scream “MINE” and shove the new kid into the pool.

  
But first off, that’s not the type of person he is and second off, it’s the YMCA, and therefore definitely not his pool. On the other hand, the other boy isn’t wearing any swimming trunks, just an old pair of jeans so Kurt was not sure if he even intended to use the pool at all. So he stood there, awkwardly shuffling his feet while he contemplated how to breach the subject in a way that wouldn’t cause the other boy to call him a freak.

  
He took his time studying the newcomer. He was taller than Kurt, and maybe older by a year or two. He had that awkward haircut that a lot of boys get, where it doesn’t hang right and made him look younger than he probably is. He had more build than Kurt, more substance. He looked a lot like the kids at Kurt’s school who played Peewee football. Kurt doesn’t like those kids. He didn’t understand them and they teased him and shoved him and they’re all a bunch of bullies. This boy didn’t seem like that, though. He was quiet and hunched-over, very melancholy, actually. Kurt imagined that he’s nice.

  
That settled it. His mind was made up. A boy like that probably needed someone to talk to. Gathering his courage, Kurt walked over to where the other boy is sitting, with his legs dangling into the water, and settles next to him. He puts on his friendly smile, something that he hasn’t had cause to use in a while since he isn’t one to try and make friends, and introduces himself.

  
“I’m Kurt.”

  
It took a moment, but eventually the taller boy turns to look at him, expression distant, and nods, “Puck,” Which makes Kurt blink because, uh, what kind of name was that? Clearly reading Kurt’s expression, the other boy shakes his head. “My name’s Noah, but everyone calls me ‘Puck’.”

  
Kurt really wants to ask ‘why’ but settles for nodding and making a noncommittal “ah,” sound.

  
“Well, uh, Noah… um, I’m going to use the pool now, ok?” He was not really sure why he asked. After all, he had just as much right to be there as Noah but something about the other boy’s eyes made him uneasy. He sort of wanted to gouge them out of Noah’s head.

  
They reminded him of his mother, and the thought made him sick.

  
Noah didn’t say anything, just sort of nodded again, but instead he leaned back and made himself comfortable, eyes still locked on the clear blue of the pool. It made Kurt edgy, but he pealed his shirt off anyway. He was too skinny but he’d been building up muscle with the swimming and the dance (he hadn’t told his father about yet either) so it’s not like he had too much to be ashamed of. Even so, it’s the first time he’d been this bare in front of someone in the entire expanse of his memory. Noah didn’t make it easy, either; he flicked his eyes up to Kurt, watching him. Kurt couldn’t really blame him; he’s the only moving thing in the room and therefore the most interesting, but still…

  
He dove in before his brain tried to think anymore. After that it’s like he’s all alone, there’s no one else around, not in the room or the pool, not in the town. It was just him and the water and it’s wonderful.

  
It was not until nearly an hour later when he was climbing out again that he remembered that was not true. Noah was still there, his feet still hanging in the water and those stupid eyes on Kurt; and Kurt’s hit by the strangest urge to cover up, like a girl. He wanted desperately to hold his hands in front of himself or wrap his towel all the way around his body in an attempt to hide. They stayed like that for a little while, Noah at the edge of the pool with his eyes on Kurt and Kurt half way out of the water. Eventually, Noah got up and left and Kurt finally remembered how to move and clambers the rest of the way out of the pool.

  
After a long moment, he eventually shook it off and gathered up his clothes and pulled them on. But his mind was elsewhere and Kurt walked home in a daze. His Dad was there standing beside the massive hole that would become their swimming pool. Kurt settled himself on one of the lawn chairs and just sat there for a while. He was not actually paying attention to what was going on, he didn’t even notice when his Dad went back inside after giving him a curious once-over.  
Kurt wasn’t a coward, had never been a coward. And while Noah made him uneasy, the other boy hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He knew if he went back, it would only be a matter of time before he ran into the boy. So while a part of him is internally desperate never to go back to the Y again, Kurt wasn’t about to let this stranger stop him from doing what he needed to do. He kept to his schedule, because Kurt had never been a quitter and wasn’t about to start now.  
But sure enough, when he stepped through the door to the pool, there was Noah.

  
The older boy is leaning against the wall, he was sprawled in a way that screams, “I don’t give a damn” He headed over to where Noah’s set up camp and crouched in front of him. Noah looked better today, his eyes a little clearer, more with the here and now. He was still a little slow to notice that Kurt was even there, though, and it was mildly disconcerting. But, eventually, he raised his head and focused his bleary eyes on Kurt.

  
“I’m going swimming now,” Kurt informed him, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing that at all. “Just wanted to make sure you realized someone else was in here now,” he explained. Noah just kind of dropped his chin like his head is too heavy, but Kurt chose to interpret it as a nod. He changed in the lockers and came into the pool room with nothing but his towel. If he felt those eyes on him when he dropped it and dove into the cool water, he pretended not to notice.

  
Things continued like that for a while, to the point where Kurt hardly noticed there was someone else with him anymore. Noah had become part of his routine so much that when Kurt arrived at the pool one day to find it empty, he was taken aback. For weeks now, Kurt had been coming here to find Noah already hanging around, and to not see him threw Kurt off balance for a long moment. But it’s not like they spoke or anything, so Kurt just shrugs his small shoulders and dove into the pool, ignoring the concern growing with every second that passed. The worry that had settled in the pit of his stomach was ridiculous.

  
Kurt didn’t know it, but he wouldn’t see Noah Puckerman again until high school. But that day, and every day after, when he surfaced from the water he couldn’t quite help the way his eyes wandered, looking for a certain hunched form with dark eyes that Kurt never could quite get out of his head. Kurt went back same as always, kept up his routine, because that’s the type of person he is. He kept this up until his Dad herded him outside one day, hand warm and reassuring on Kurt’s shoulder, and smiling with the same pride and accomplishment he’d seen on his dad’s face the day they finished his bedroom, waved a hand at their backyard.  
A backyard which now featured their brand new pool.

  
And that’s the end of that.

  
There was no reason for Kurt to go back to the Y and so he doesn’t. After all, why should he? He had his own pool to practice in after school now, a whole pool all to himself. No one was there anymore to make him feel self-conscious. He no longer had to ask permission. He could just swim whenever he wanted while his father is still at work.

  
Thanks to the swimming, by the time he’s in the eighth grade, Kurt’s body was solid with muscle but still as trim as it had ever been. He’d be “graduating” soon, and he was more than a little excited to finally be in high school.

  
He’d learned a lot about himself over the past year. He discovered that he liked fashion and dance, that he couldn’t care less about sports but he was somehow amazing at them. He was fast, exceptionally so. In gym class, Kurt had always hung back, always picked close to last, but surprised everyone, even himself when his scores had been impeccable. Baseball? When Kurt managed to hit the ball, he was passing his first base before the other players even knew what was going on. Track days? Kurt left everyone in his dust and didn’t think anything of it.

  
He sucked at basketball.

  
But that was fine, because Kurt also learned that he can sing really well. He found that out in the seventh grade when all the kids had to take choir (not that he’d really minded). The school had put on a play and Kurt had been the lead. He hadn’t mentioned it to his father, had pretended that it hadn’t hurt to know there wasn’t anyone in audience for him. But Kurt had gotten used to being lonely early on, and learned what to keep from his father, and and became very skilled at blocking it out.

  
The applause at the end of the performance felt better than anything he’d ever felt in his life, even though he knew his dad wasn’t out there clapping for him. He wanted to do more of that, but low funding for the arts in middle school meant that wasn’t going to happen again any time soon.

  
The school did this whole little graduation ceremony. It seemed silly. But he got to dress up, and Kurt loved that. Everyone lined up in alphabetical order in their Sunday Best so that when the principal calls their name they could step forward in an orderly fashion and collect a rolled-up paper that says they can move on to high school. No Child Left Behind can be a bitch.

  
When his name was called, Kurt stepped forward, smoothed a hand down his clothes and accepted his “certificate”. He scanned the crowd of parents gathered in the auditorium, caught his father’s eye. His dad nodded his head. Kurt realized that it’d probably be the only acknowledgment he’d get for this. Not that he minded; he didn’t consider it much of an achievement either.

  
After all, only a moron could get held back these days.

  
They didn’t have caps and gowns but as they exit the auditorium, there was a flurry of programs being thrown in the air and the whoops and hollers of his classmates. Kurt stands off to the side and watches them with an odd sense of detachment. He leaned back against the wall and hummed softly to himself as the others made a mockery of themselves. Eventually his dad appeared, placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, squeezed once before leading the way back to the car.  
That summer, Kurt swam in the pool every day, just for something to do. He downloaded an endless supply of pop tunes and learned the dances in all of the videos for them. He threw himself into every little hobby he had in a desperate attempt to block out everything else.

  
The summer drags on endlessly and eventually Kurt succumbed to the boredom same as anyone else. He started laying out by the pool for hours, with his over-sized sunglasses on and Pink rocking her female fury at volumes loud enough to rupture ear drums.

  
Until finally, finally, it was here- the first day of high school. He was excited and nervous because, honestly, he’d seen enough teen movies to know that that place could be evil if you’re different.

  
And Kurt knew that he was most assuredly different. But he wasn’t about to let it bother him. He never had before and he had no intention of doing so now. He walked tall and proud as he took in all the sights.

  
It took him by surprise when he suddenly felt the weight of a gaze on his back. He rolled his shoulders slightly, fighting the sudden inexplicable desire for a pool to dive into. It felt familiar and Kurt blinked before looking around him. There was no one he recognized there and there didn’t seem to be anyone looking at him, either. He went about his day, his week, his freshman year and eventually that heavy gaze no longer registered.

  
And when he met the boy named “Puck” it made something in his memory flicker, but for the life of him he can’t remember why. All he knew is that when that tall and unbearably gorgeous body corners him against a wall and leans in close with his voice low and threatening it’s not the warning that he’s paying attention to. It’s how dark and familiar his eyes seemed.

  
And then it hit him like lightening as Puck shoved him in a locker.

  
 _They reminded him of his mother…_


	2. Chapter 2

It’s nearly a month of being in Glee before Kurt and Puck end up alone together. It’s not like they actively avoid one another on a regular basis, there’s just never been any reason for them to even try and speak with one another. That is until the day after the Diva Off. 

Kurt’s been keeping to himself, still too raw and pained over having throw away his _chance_. He’s made the right decision.  He knows he has. His dad just isn’t ready to face how ugly the world could be to someone different like him just yet, even if Kurt has made his peace with it a long time ago. 

However, that doesn’t change the fact that he flinches when Puck catches him outside his locker. He may not be thrown in the dumpster on a regular basis anymore, he may not be accosted at every turn, and while Puck is perfectly bearable now, Kurt still has the reflex that screams “NO” and “RUN” every single time the taller boy appears out of nowhere. 

“Hey,” Puck’s not even looking at him, eyes scanning the mass of students milling about around them. He doesn’t say anything else, keeps leaning against the locker next to Kurt like this is completely normal until eventually Kurt gives a, “hey,” back. And then Puck sort of rounds on him, pressing in close and sinister and Kurt shrinks backward so sharply pain races up his spine when it connects with the cold metal of his locker. 

“You have a pool, right?” 

Kurt sort of blinks at him; an odd, conflicting mixture of fear and incredulousness wells up inside him. Firstly they aren’t friends, aren’t close enough that Kurt would invite the other boy over to use his pool. Besides, it’s fall. It may not be snowing or anything like that but it’s getting to that cool, crisp, temperature that means no one is going out swimming unless they find a heated pool somewhere. 

“Um, yes?” he finally says.  It’s a question, not a statement.  And he hates that it comes out as a question, _hates_ how uncertain he sounds. 

“Cool,” Puck says, “Cool.” 

He sort of drifts off, and Kurt is seriously uncomfortable because the older boy is still standing too close, still looming in a way that is all threat. It makes him itch under his skin and he’s very tempted to simply duck away and vanish into the crowd of students around them. But Puck must have figured Kurt would try something like that as he’s got a hand curled in the front of Kurt’s jacket, fingers clenched tight. 

“Any, _fuck_ ,” Puck spits out, “any chance you need someone to look after it?” They don’t. Kurt’s been taking care of the pool on his own since they got it. He’s about to tell Puck just that when he catches sight of the other boy’s eyes. They’re full of shame and desperation and Kurt doesn’t understand why, has no idea why the great Noah Puckerman would need money but it’s apparent that he does. 

“No,” Kurt says slowly, cautiously, “Not really. But, uh,” he has no idea why he says what he does next. Regrets it almost instantly, “My Dad’s been needing someone to help him out at the garage lately. And I, uh, well I’m just not strong enough to do a lot of the things he needs so, uh…” 

Puck curses, his hand in Kurt’s sweater clenches tight, “Don’t know how to fix cars.” 

Kurt must be out of his mind because he finds himself smiling, this sad pathetic excuse of a thing, and curling his fingers around the ones holding fast to his clothes, “That’s alright,” he hears himself say, “I do.” 

Kurt doesn’t miss the confused expression on the other boy’s face, undoubtedly puzzled by the fact that someone like him knows something about anything as macho as a car…but for once, decides to ignore it. 

Which is how Kurt winds up driving Puck over to his Dad’s garage after school. 

The drive is quiet and uncomfortable and Kurt tries to occupy himself with singing quietly along with the radio. They’ve been in the car for maybe ten minutes when Puck clears his throat, mumbles something unintelligible before staring out the window with such conviction Kurt hesitates before he can’t resist any longer.

“What?”

And Puck sighs.  It’s this defeated, annoyed sound that makes Kurt bristle. “I said, thanks. For, you know, this,” he mumbles, looking out the window.  He exhales and leans his head back, and it makes Kurt sort of sad because Puck looks old and downtrodden. He looks a lot like Kurt feels, actually.

“Don’t mention it,” Kurt says.  He pauses and frowns. “Seriously. If Finn found out I got _you_ a job when he was going completely crazy just the other day…” he can’t finish. Isn’t sure how to explain how he feels, isn’t sure he _wants_ to.

But Puck just kind of snorts a laugh.  “Yeah. I imagine Quinn would eat you alive over something like that.”

He was safe.  Saved by Puck’s own cluelessness. Thank god. 

When they get to the garage, Kurt pulls into his parking space before hopping out and heading to the office. Puck follows after him, dragging his feet slightly. Kurt’s Dad is in the office, filling out paperwork before he starts working on Mrs. Robinson’s Ford that he has up on the lift right now. His father doesn’t even twitch when Kurt opens the door, knows the sounds Kurt makes as well as his own. He does, however, look up when the door doesn’t immediately close behind his son.

Puck suddenly stands straighter, holds himself high when he realizes that he’s being surveyed. He needs this. Quinn may say she doesn’t want his help or his money but that’s still his kid, damnit, and he’s going to take care of it, whether Quinn lets him into their lives or not. He’ll send fucking envelopes of cash in the mail if he has to, that kid is going to be well cared for. 

“What’s this?” Kurt’s Dad is looking at him but he’s talking to Kurt. He looks uncomfortable, like he wishes Puck would up and vanish or something, “Kurt… is this…” and then he whispers, “is this your boyfriend?” 

“What!? NO!” they shout it at the same time, expressions equally horrified. And then they look at each other, and Puck wishes the slight uplifting of Kurt’s lips in a nearly fond smile wasn’t quite so sweet. But, fuck, no one’s smiled at him in a while. Well, Quinn did briefly, before she yelled at him and ran right back to Finn. He hates how he’s sort of insulted by how disgusted Kurt seems to be at the idea of dating him. It’s not like he’s a bad catch. Hell, he’d like to see Kurt find anyone better. 

It takes him a moment to realize Kurt’s speaking; he’s leaning sideways, legs curled up on the desk and whispering to his father. Puck really hates himself that he finds it kind of hot, in a “naughty secretary and boss” type deal. Not in a “father and totally gay son” way. Because, dude, _no_. 

“Hm,” Kurt’s Dad says and he sounds like he really doesn’t want to be here but he looks over at Kurt, at those large blue eyes that look sad and hopeful and heaves this huge heavy sigh before turning his attention back to Puck, “My boy says you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Says you’d be a huge help around here,” There’s a long drawn out silence and Puck uses all his energy to focus on not squirming under such a piercing gaze. Finally the big man turns back to his son, “Kurt, you gotta leave for the interview. Why don’t you go take a look at Mr. Welsh’s Benz and see what you think.” 

Kurt kind of nods, slides off the desk with all that gay-dancer grace the kid’s got. He snags his bag off the floor where he’d dropped it and heads out the door. He gives Puck’s arm a reassuring squeeze, smiles at him small and sad and then he’s gone. 

Slowly, like he has to drag them, Puck turns his eyes back to the big man behind the desk. Mr. Hummel is watching him like he’s a bomb about to go off but he heaves a sigh and gestures to the chairs set facing the desk. “Take a seat, kid.” 

And Puck does. 

“So, you need a job, huh?”

“Yeah... uh, I mean. Yes, sir.” 

“And Kurt told you I could give you one?” The guy isn’t even looking at him anymore. His attention is on whatever form he’s filling out, and Puck _hates_ this. Hates that he has to be here, has to rely on Kurt-fucking-Hummel of all people. “Well here’s the thing,” and now he does look up and his eyes are hard, fucking steely and Puck knows that look, “I don’t actually need any help around here. Kurt’s real good at it, got a knack for it. But Kurt gave up something real important to him for me so I’ll tell ya what, kid. I’ll hire you. You come around here, do what Kurt tells you to and we’ll get you as good as us in no time. But,” and he leans forward, voice dropping to a rough murmur, “That won’t be what I’m paying you for. That’s just to have something on the tax forms, something to make Kurt happy. What you can do for me, what I will pay you good money for, is to make sure nothin’ happens to my kid. You got me?”

“Uh,” he mumbles.  His head is spinning.  So what, he’s Kurt fucking Hummel’s Knight in Fucking Shining Armor now?  Jesus H. Christ.  This is just too much. “I… not really.” 

“I got this call the other day,” Mr. Hummel says, like they’re talking about the weather, “From some coward who called my son a ‘fag’. Now my son may be gay but he’s a damn good kid, shouldn’t ever have to hear hateful things said to him. And when I tell him about this fucker on the phone do you know what he says to me?”

“No?” Jesus Christ, the look in this guy’s eyes, scary as all hell. 

“He says, ‘oh that’s no big deal, I get that all the time.’ Do you know what it does to a father to hear that people say that sort of thing to their kid?” He doesn’t. He has no idea what a father, a _good_ father feels for his kid. It hurts, that someone like Kurt Hummel has this waiting for him, “He’s all I got,” Mr. Hummel goes on, “And I don’t want this sort of crap to happen anymore. So you,” he points his pen at Puck’s chest, presses in, “Are going to make sure it _doesn’t_ and you won’t tell my boy, you got that?” 

“Yeah. Sure. I can handle that.” 

Beat up a few bullies? Track down a few trash talkers? Learn how to fix up cars and get paid? He can totally handle that. 

They shake hands after that. Mr. Hummel takes down Puck’s name and information, puts it all in a folder labeled “employees” and Puck sort of hates how happy it makes him when Mr. Hummel claps him on the back and welcomes him to the family. 

But it makes him fucking hate his dead-beat dad even more. 

That night when he’s so close to sleep he can taste it something Mr. Hummel had said flashes through his mind and he absently wonders what it meant before he’s out. 

 _… Kurt gave up something real important to him for me…_

 

***

The following morning Puck wakes up earlier than usual. He snags an apple off the counter before heading out the door. He doesn’t have a car because his family doesn’t have the money needed to pay for the vehicle let alone the insurance, so he walks to school. He’s going to get there a good half hour or so earlier than he normally would. Mr. Hummel is paying him good money and he’s going to make sure that not a hair on Kurt Hummel’s gay little head gets ruffled. 

It shouldn’t be too hard. The football team hit Kurt with that one slushy when he quit the team but the Great Glee Embargo ended and Finn had practically begged on his knees for Kurt to come back. And since he is once more amongst them the football team doesn’t give him any more shit. That’s how it works; they don’t fuck with their own. 

So long as one of their own doesn’t try to stray from the path, anyway. 

Puck stops his train of thought there because he remembers all too clearly just how many times _he_ picked on Kurt for just those piss-poor reasons. He feels like an ass and wonders if maybe this is God’s way of smacking him upside the head. He didn’t go for the nice Jewish girl like his mom wanted so now God is punishing him, reminding him of past sins. Like dealing with Quinn and Finn isn’t punishment enough.

‘Way to go Puckerman,’ he says, kicking himself mentally, ‘that’s how to piss of The Big Guy.’  

It’s not surprising that nothing happens at school that day. Of course it also illuminates a certain problem with this arrangement he hadn’t considered before. He and Kurt aren’t friends. Oh yeah, they have glee and football together and they share a class or two but they don’t talk. He’s not one of the people who can approach Kurt with a smile and walk down the hall with him.  It’s not like he can just follow the kid around like a creeper, he can just imagine how well _that_ would go down. He’s thinking all this over as he leans against the locker next to Kurt’s, waiting for the younger boy to show up now that school’s over. It’s his first day on the job, and that means he needs to bum a ride with Kurt again over to the garage. 

Only a few moments later, Kurt arrives. He pauses when he sees Puck there before offering up a put-upon sigh and opening his locker, “If you’re waiting for a ride maybe you can move and let Eric at his locker?” 

Puck blinks before looking around a realizing some kid with thick glasses has been hovering awkwardly nearby, clearly too afraid of Puck to actually _say_ anything about the fact that it’s his locker Puck’s been lazing against for the past ten minutes. 

Undoubtedly, it does nothing to ease the kid’s fear when all Puck does is offer up a shark-like, devilish smile before turning his attention back to Kurt, “So your Dad said you’d teach me the ropes at the garage…”

“ _Did_ he now,” Kurt mutters, clearly only half paying attention to what Puck’s saying as he riffles through his locker. Puck tallies the number of scarves he can see with a bored sort of detachment. He counts six of them. 

“Yeah. Says I’m supposed to listen to you ‘til I got things figured out. And, well, Dude I don’t got a car or nothin’.”

Kurt’s locker closes with an audible snap and he turns to look at Puck levelly, stares him dead in the eye for an uncomfortably long moment before he sniffs and turns away. “Fine,” he says and Puck has to drag his eyes away from the way Kurt walks because _shit dude_ , “But I’m driving Mercedes home first and she _always_ rides shotgun.”

Puck figures he can live with that.

What he apparently hadn’t realized was the degree to which they were going to ignore him while he was in the car. He’d barely hopped in the backseat of Kurt’s (admittedly badass) car before Mercedes had fiddled with the radio and blasted her black diva music loud enough to make Puck _wish_ his ears were bleeding. 

They talk excitedly, rapidly and Puck is honestly amazed to hear Kurt burst out laughing at whatever story Mercedes is telling. She’s waving her arms around, making over the top expressions and Kurt looks like if he weren’t driving he’d have collapsed into a giggling puddle already. 

This side of Kurt, this happy carefree kid is something completely unexpected. Something special. And while they have pretty much forgotten he’s there it feels kind of good to be considered _worthy_ or whatever to see this. Good to know that at least someone thinks he’s worth a crap. 

When they get to Mercedes’ house she leans over and gives Kurt a kiss on the cheek. It’s soft and loving, and it hurts to look at it; especially when Kurt turns and presses a kiss to his friend’s cheek in return. 

“See you tomorrow, Kurt.” Mercedes chirps, her eyes find Puck and she glares before turning her eyes back to the boy in the driver’s seat, “Stay out of trouble, ‘kay?” Puck doesn’t wait for her to get to the door before he’s clambering up into the front seat. And it may make him a jerk, but he totally enjoys the pissed-off look it earns him from Kurt.

The shorter boy refrains from saying anything, rolls his eyes and plugs his iPod in rather than deal with the radio. He sets it to shuffle before backing out of Mercedes’ driveway and onto the street. It’s a pretty uneventful drive; neither boy really has anything to say to the other, until Puck hears his own voice come through the speakers. 

“The fuck?” Puck’s hands go to the iPod, snatching it up and staring at it accusingly. “That _me_. Hummel, what the hell?” He expects embarrassed stutters, rushed explanations. What he does not expect when he actually looks at Kurt is a confused expression and eyes completely devoid of panic. 

“Artie gave it to me yesterday,” Kurt says, “He records us every time someone sings. He made a CD. Didn’t you get one?” And he sounds so genuine that Puck finds himself believing him immediately, which kind of sucks because now, he’s apparently a loser who doesn’t even warrant a CD from Artie.

“No,” is all he says, and his tone must make his mood pretty damn obvious because Kurt doesn’t say a word. Just keeps on driving while Puck looks through all the songs. It’s all there, all their performances, all their mini jams… even Rachel singing “Defying Gravity”.

“Where’s yours?” He hears himself ask, he’s as shocked as Kurt is by the question.  Fuck no, he hadn’t intended to ask it. For a second Kurt looks confused, but they’re at a stoplight and blue eyes flick to the song displayed on the player seconds before Kurt fucking _flinches_.

“I deleted it,” he replies.  His voice is frosty; it practically screams that if Puck is smart he’ll drop the subject.  But Puck has a reputation for being a moron.  He knows this. He knows he sort of lacks control of his impulses.  He completely disregards every single signal Kurt’s broadcasting.

Kurt shoots him a glare that would have sent a lesser man running. It has, actually, Puck saw Kurt use that same look on Finn when he wouldn’t stop trying to cheer Kurt up after the Diva Off. 

“Don’t call me ‘dude’,” Kurt sneers. He doesn’t say anything else about the music and Puck absently flips through their songs some more before settling on the mash up the boys had all done together. He catches Kurt trying to repress a smile from the corner of his eye and kind of hates that it makes him feel awesome. 

But that feeling is short-lived as hell. Especially once they arrive at the garage. 

Kurt, Puck decides, is one annoying little bitch. They’ve been at the garage for nearly two hours and they haven’t actually done any work on the cars. But Kurt just _insists_ they’re doing things right. Says there’s no way he’s letting Puck anywhere near a car until he masters the name and purpose of every tool in Kurt’s honest to god purple-sparkly toolbox. 

 “And after that,” he’d said, “I’m going to open a hood and we’re going to _memorize_ every part.”

Yeah. Kurt’s a fucking _bitch._

“What’s this?” Kurt says. He’s waving some shiny metal thing that he’d swear were a wrench if he hadn’t guessed that six times already today. 

Kurt had thrown the damn thing at his head the last time. 

“A, um…” fuck it, “Screwdriver?” 

Kurt stares at him, his eyes slide to the shiny metal thing in his hand, back to Puck, back to the thing. Eventually he sets it down, doesn’t say a fucking word, just puts the thing down and scoots back on the table. He stretches like a cat before sprawling on the wood bench like it’s the most comfortable surface in the world and shuts his eyes. 

“The fuck, Hummel?”

One steely blue eye cracks open and Kurt says, calm as you please, “If you aren’t going to try why should I?” And, ow, that kind of stings. Puck _is_ trying. He really is. It’s not his fault he sucks at this. 

“Dude, Hummel, come on man. Give me a break. You’ve had forever to learn this shit. I’m not going to get it all right away,” He hates how Kurt makes him feel like a dick and a loser all at once. Hadn’t thought anyone but Quinn had mastered that particular talent. What’s worse is he doesn’t even _like_ Kurt. At least with Quinn he knows why he wants her approval so much. She’s having his damn kid. But Kurt? He has no clue why his opinion matters at all. 

Kurt gives him a funny look, propped up on his elbows and if he were a chick it’d be fucking hot, like the set-up for some cheesy themed porno. He needs to get laid or something because there’s no way he wants all these mini-pornos running through his head every time Kurt decides to get up on a hard surface. 

Then he gives this over the top dramatic sigh and just sort of slides right off the table like it’s greased or something, “When I was younger,” he’s saying, “My dad used to teach me by offering rewards,” He throws a haughty look over his shoulder at Puck, “In the movies a pretty girl takes her clothes off every time the dumb male lead gets a question right.” 

For one very confusing moment, Puck thinks that Kurt is about to suggest they do just that. He’s wrong of course. There’s no way Kurt Hummel would ever take off so much as a scarf for Puck’s benefit. Puck has no idea why that bothers him. 

It’s a good thing he didn’t care.

“You gotta take a swig of this every time I get one right,” he says with one of his signature feral grins.  He pulls a bottle of Jack from his backpack, waggles the bottle slightly and makes beckoning motions with his free hand. 

Kurt stares at him for a long moment, just watching him before he says, very slowly, “You mean _you_ get to take a drink?”

“So come on choir boy,” he says with an audible gulp, “let’s have some fun.”   

Kurt snatched the bottle and its lid from his hands.  “The point of this whole  ‘reward system’ (the other boy used air-quotes the way he played air-guitar) is that you are supposed to actually work for it,” he said, punctuating the statement with the ‘thud’ of the bottle on the tool-bench. 

But the bottle is still on the tool-bench. Kurt wasn’t out-right refusing his terms.  Score one for the moron.

They’d gone through the items of Kurt’s toolbox one more time before getting started on their little game. Kurt’s perched once more on the table across from where Puck is sprawled in a cheap plastic chair. He held up every item and very carefully explained what it was for, using the name of the object as often as possible in his explanations. Puck had focused so hard his head hurt, but it was certainly paying off now. Kurt is more than a few swigs into the bottle, his cheeks are flushed and he is swaying ever so slightly. 

He is also _very_ talkative. 

“Finn, Finn’s a really nice guy,” Kurt’s saying, “Like, he knows everyone’s crushing on him but he tries really hard not to break their hearts, you know?” Puck just grins, “Of course you don’t. You’re straight. Like, _super_ straight,” Kurt pauses, stares accusingly at the bottle, then the toolbox, before shooting Puck one. He’s three sheets to the wind but he still pulls yet another shiny metal thing out of his sparkly toolbox. 

 Puck’s lips twitch upwards, “Ratchet.”

 Kurt’s eyes dart sluggishly back to the thing in his hand before he nods, “What size?” 

 Puck’s wearing a full on smirk now, internally gloated at how well he’s doing, “3/8 of an inch.”

 Kurt curses quietly, or he tries to. The liquor has affected his volume control slightly. Puck catches the grumbles perfectly clearly as the smaller boy takes a long swig from the bottle. Dark liquid trails down a pale chin and Puck _really_ needs to get laid. 

 “So, Hummel,” Puck puts as much drawl into his voice as he can, “You seeing anyone?”

 Kurt gives a start, but he’s so uncoordinated that he nearly topples off. He sputters helplessly for several moments, completely unsettled. It’s hilarious as all hell, composed little Kurt Hummel reduced to a drunken mess. The torture he had to endure being his little bitch was almost kinda worth it.  It takes him a while, but eventually, Kurt seems to find his center of gravity again, leans back on one hand and waving the ratchet in Puck’s direction.

“Oh _right_ ,” he says, “I defiantly have a boyfriend! What with a town this populated? And so _open minded_. Obviously I have an entire pack of guys lining up to date me,” he says with a resigned sigh.  His face scrunches up into a sneer and he chucks the ratchet back into the tool box rougher than he normally would. “You’re a jerk,” he mutters after a moment, before drawing the next tool out of his box.  Puck lets him get away with it.  It’s kind of true, and he knows it. 

 They go at it for a while, go until Kurt’s words all slur together and he’s no longer able to tell if Puck is getting the answers right or not. He just starts taking a swig whenever he hears the deep sound of Puck’s voice. His vision is blurry and he can’t hold himself up anymore, just flops down on the bench and stares vacantly up at the ceiling of the garage. Several long moments pass until eventually his in depth study of the cracks above him is interrupted by Puck leaning over him, damnable smirk on his lips.

 “Hey there, Hummel.” Kurt hears himself make some garbled response but isn’t really paying attention. Puck just grins wider and shoves his (huge) hands underneath Kurt and hoists him up. “Come on, Hummel. Up we go. I promised your Dad I’d look after you so give me your keys and I’ll get you home,” Kurt’s far too gone to really understand what Puck’s saying. He catches something about his dad but his focus isn’t there.

 “You’re no drivin’ m’ baby,” he manages to get out, shoving weakly at Puck’s chest in a show of his displeasure at the idea of Puck behind the wheel of his beloved car.  Puck just smiles and shakes his head, amused by the drunken attempts to thwart him. It’s a little bit of a challenge but he manages to get Kurt’s keys from his pocket before half carrying and half dragging the inebriated boy to his car. 

 As soon as he’s in the passenger seat, Kurt curls up like a little kid. And Puck feels kind of like an ass because damn Kurt looks so _young_. But they’re only on the road for a few minutes before the smaller boy jerks up and, startled, swings a fist in Puck’s direction. It completely catches Puck off guard. The wheel jerks in his hand, sends it nearly careening into a lamp post. He barely manages to correct his course in time, slamming on the breaks and sending both of them smashing against their seatbelts. 

 “CHRIST, Hummel. What the hell?” 

 “What are you _doing_!” Kurt shrieks at him, flattening himself against the car door. He looks like a frightened animal and he’s staring at Puck like he’s some kind of monster. “Let me out! Let me _out_!”

 “Woah, Hummel, dude. Calm down! I’m taking you home.” 

 Kurt blinks a few times, eyes darting around rapidly and his breathing slowly calms down. His hands flutter around the car aimlessly for a second before he turns and gives Puck this ridiculously blinding smile and flopping right back over. He doesn’t move again and Puck just sits there watching him breathe for several long moments before deciding that Kurt is actually out for the count now. Kurt’s a fucking scary drunk once he gets past the funny stage. 

 Mr. Hummel isn’t too pleased when he opens the door to the sight of Noah Puckerman standing on his doorstep with his boy in his arms, passed out drunk. Puck gives a little movement, something like a shrug and doesn’t bother to explain, just walks inside and heads on down to Kurt’s basement where he lays Kurt’s comatose form on his giant ass bed. He’s just straightening up when he sees Burt Hummel standing behind him. His arms are crossed and he looks pissed. 

 “This is how you look out for my boy? Get him so drunk he can’t even get home on his own?” 

 Puck shuffles his feet, he hasn’t felt this uncomfortable in a long time. There’s something about Burt Hummel that reduces Puck into a little boy, “We were just having some fun.” He gives another lame attempt at a shrug and looks down at his feet until Mr. Hummel sighs and lays a hand on Puck’s shoulder.

 “Alright, let’s go have a talk upstairs.” 

 Without another word Burt turns and makes his way upstairs. Puck spares Kurt one last look, offhandedly noticing that he’s curled up on his bed, clutching a pillow tightly to his chest. Another shock of how young Kurt looks, a flash that this is his responsibility before following the other man up the stairs. 

 Burt Hummel is waiting for him when he gets to the living room. He looks like some kind of mob boss, dark and angry and a fucking force of nature. When he catches sight of Puck he gives him his full attention. 

 “You’re supposed to be looking after him.” 

 “It was just for fun. We were gettin’ to know each other. Was fun.” 

 Burt nods, “Anyone give you boys any trouble?” 

“Nah. Kurt though, he doesn’t like me hangin’ around all the time.” 

 Burt just stares at him for several long moments before scoffing slightly and showing Puck to the door. Kurt’s keys are still in his pocket and he considers doing the right thing for all of two seconds before clambering up into Kurt’s monster of a car and heading for Finn’s. 

 Finn’s a bit of a mess when Puck lets himself in. The baby drama has been driving Finn up the wall and Puck feels a quick stab of guilt before he shoves it away. His best friend watches him with a raised eyebrow when Puck flops down on the unmade bed and flings an arm over his eyes. 

 “So,” Finn says eventually, “You and Kurt are friends now?” It probably shouldn’t have been a question but when it comes to Finn nearly everything comes out as a question.

 Puck makes some noncommittal sound that seems vaguely agreeable. He just wants to forget about Kurt-fucking-Hummel for a little while. Forget about how damn nice he’s been, how even after all the shit Puck’s put him through Kurt’s still willing to help him out. He ends up playing video games with Finn until they pass out on the floor. 

 The next morning, he wakes up to his phone’s ringtone and Kurt Hummel’s voice in his ear. Kurt’s tone is fucking icy when he says, “Where’s my car, Puck? Where are my _keys_?” 

 “Dude, dude _chill_ ,” he says, forgetting Kurt’s request not to call him ‘dude.’  He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he sits up. He’s exhausted and sore as hell.  Finn’s carpet is a piss poor substitute for a bed. “You got totally hammered last night and I needed to get home,” he explains.  Kurt’s bitching on the other end of the line, but Puck isn’t paying attention. He drags his hand up and blinks several times as he looks at his watch. It’s not even six o’clock and Kurt already sounds like he’s been up for a while, “Hey, I’ll bring it back. Calm down. I’m leaving now,” he tries to say, but it’s clear Kurt isn’t listening. He’s still got the phone pressed to his ear as he’s pulling on his shoes. He half suspects Kurt’s hung up until he hears:

 “I’d hurry. If I decide I’m still upset when you get here I’m _not_ giving you a ride to school.” 

 There’s nothing but silence left and Puck snaps his phone shut and hops out of Finn’s room still tugging his worn converse on. He hears Finn make some garbled noise that sounds vaguely like goodbye but he’s already down the stairs and doesn’t bother to respond. Finn won’t even remember him leaving when he wakes up in an hour anyway.

‘Great,’ Puck says to himself as he makes his way to Kurt’s house.  ‘Fucking great.  Last thing I needed this morning was fucking damage control.’ 

 Mr. Hummel opens the door for him when he shows up on his doorstep a short while later. Mr. Hummel has a toothbrush in his mouth and his flannel shirt hasn’t been buttoned up yet. He looks Puck over for a long second, taking in the day old clothes and the messed hair before pulling the toothbrush from his mouth and jerking his head in the direction of the house.

 “Kurt made breakfast. Come on in and help yourself,” he says.  Which makes Puck feel like shit. Feeding him breakfast?  After bringing his kid home hammered less than twenty-four hours before? 

He heads back up the stairs to his bedroom while Puck makes his way into the kitchen. Kurt himself is standing in front of the stove when Puck enters the kitchen. His sneakers slap loudly against the fancy tile of Kurt’s home and the shorter boy turns to him with a raised eyebrow. He has a plate of waffles in one hand and a spatula in the other. 

 “Noah,” Kurt says coolly as he sets the plate heavy with waffles on the table. Puck’s expecting a verbal lashing, but he just gestures with his spatula at the table where there are three place settings. “Take a seat; I’m not leaving for a bit.” 

 Puck slumps down into one of the chairs, kicks his legs out so that he takes up most the space under the table. “Guess I’m getting that ride then,” he says.  He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth; Kurt’s perfectly capable of ordering Puck out of his house and making him walk his ass to school. But Kurt simply rolls his eyes and heads to the fridge where he bends over (and damn but Kurt’s ass looks _good_ in those jeans, not that he’d ever tell anyone that) to grab juice and fruit that he places on the table in front of Puck. 

 Puck watches him putter around like a little housewife for a long moment until Mr. Hummel makes his way into the kitchen and takes a seat at the head of the table. It will leave Kurt and Puck sitting across from each other. Mr. Hummel reaches for the waffles, dumps three on his plate and holds his hand out for Kurt to offer him the syrup he’d just pulled from the microwave. Everything is finally in order and Kurt settles himself neatly into his place across from Puck. He takes half a waffle and covers his plate with mostly fruit, leaving Puck more than enough of the homemade fluffy-crunchy goodness. His mom hasn’t made waffles in something like ten years, a homemade meal in nearly five, and damn he’s hungry as hell. 

 He hates that those damn waffles are the most delicious thing he can remember eating in a long time. 

 He eats three, then four. Around his sixth he realizes that Kurt had gotten up and been refilling the pile to accommodate for Puck’s appetite. Puck goes through seven waffles, a bowl of fruit, a handful of bacon, about four glasses of orange juice and two cups of coffee. It’s more food than he’s had in ages, an actual honest to god breakfast before school. Mr. Hummel tells Kurt about appointments he has for the day, cars he has to work on. Kurt smiles, says he doesn’t have any after-school plans, that he’ll be home after school. It was so foreign to him.  Parents and kids being civil to each other?  That only happened in those cheesy as hell black-and-white sitcoms his mom loves.  Puck almost hates them for their peace. 

 After that, Mr. Hummel leaves for work and Puck sits in the living room while Kurt finishes getting ready. There are family photos, Kurt and his dad standing in front of a shiny old mustang at the garage, young Kurt at playgrounds and parks. And there’s one photo of a woman. She’s pretty and smiling and she’s dressed all in white. It can only be Kurt’s mother. She’s beautiful.  Fucking gorgeous.

 Kurt has her eyes.

 They pile into the car.  Kurt adjusts the seat to accommodate his significantly smaller frame while Puck kicks his feet up to rest on the dashboard. He’s more than a little surprised that Kurt not only allows it, but hands his iPod to Puck to choose the music. 

 The schoolyard has only a few students milling about when they get there. The few students who hadn’t seen Puck hanging around Kurt these past few days gape when they catch sight of Puck vaulting out of Kurt’s car. Their jaws drop further when Puck slings an arm around Kurt’s shoulders once the door is locked, pulls the shorter boy in tight side-hug against him. Kurt spares him an eye roll before shrugging off his arm. Mercedes is waiting for Kurt by the vending machines and she gives Puck a harsh glare when he saunters over behind Kurt.

 “Are you stalking my man now, Puckerman?” she asks when Puck slams his palm against the brick wall and leans in, practically blocking Kurt in.  He doesn’t think anything of it, doesn’t get why Mercedes raises an eyebrow at him, why she tugs on Kurt’s sleeve to move him closer to her and further from Puck. She tucks Kurt’s arm into her own and drags him towards the school entrance.

 “Come on, Kurt,” she says, a little louder than necessary.  “My nails need a touch-up and you’re just the boy for the job.” For a second Puck almost follows, but he shakes his head and makes his way to the football players milling around the basketball court. Just because he’s supposed to keep Hummel the Younger out of trouble doesn’t mean he needs to follow him around like some sort of lost little puppy. 

 

 _***_

 Mercedes corners him when he leaves the bathroom between second and third period, hands on her hips and face pulled into a scowl, “We need to have a talk, Puckerman.”

 “Man what is it with you?” he demands.  He’s practically snarling, but he doesn’t care. He’s being nice she doesn’t have any reason to be pissy, “I’m being nice to him and you wanna bite my head off?”

She doesn’t look convinced, just gives him a little shove and follows after when he stumbles back into the bathroom. There are a few guys at the urinals, and they all look like deer in the headlights when they look up to see a girl in the bathroom. Especially a girl like Mercedes Jones.  For her part, Mercedes doesn’t spare them a second glance.  She just pushes Puck into a stall and sends him sprawling out on the seat. Mercedes takes up the entire doorway, completely blocking him in. He hears the other kids in the bathroom making tracks. 

 He’s making some low rumbling noise in the back of his throat that he isn’t aware of until Mercedes puts on her best “diva face” and says:

 “Don’t you growl at _me_ Noah Puckerman, I am in no mood.” 

“It ain’t my fault it’s your Time of the Month,” he says, but as soon as its out of his mouth, he regrets it.

 She gives him a look that clearly indicates she’s not going to dignify that with a response.  It makes him grouchy, but he crosses his arms and slumps back against the wall. It’s dirty and there are dirty pictures and crude words everywhere. There’d been one of Kurt for a while, as well as Quinn, but Finn had taken paint to it months ago, covered it in thick dark layers. Nobody likes spending extended period of time in the boys’ bathrooms but Mercedes doesn’t seem to care. 

 “Now I don’t know why you’ve been sniffing around Kurt. We’ve all been getting along just fine lately but we ain’t real tight. And you and Kurt? You sure as hell ain’t tight.”

 “Just trying to be friendly, babe,” he says.  He gives her his best cocky smirk, kicks his legs out so they’re resting on either side of hers, “Thought you’d be happy ‘bout that.” 

 “Sure. But not when it’s you. Not when it’s Kurt. You’ve spent years terrorizing him and you all may have stopped ‘cuz of glee and all but there’s bad blood there. No offense, but I don’t really see either of you trying to clean that up.” 

 “Kurt’s a cool dude. Helped me out when I needed it. Figure I owe him some time.” He gives a shrug, “ ‘sides, Finn’s been getting on my case lately. Says I gotta start playing nice. Got a problem with me playing nice, or should I go back to dumpster tossing?” 

 She throws her hands up the air, looks at him like he’s the most frustrating thing in the world, “That’s not what I meant! Look,” and she’s back to being serious, one hand on her hip and the other poking him in the chest, “I just want to make sure you don’t hurt him.”

 It makes Puck laugh, “You’re acting like we’re fucking dating or somethin’.” He pushes himself up with a hand on one grungy wall to steady him, “I ain’t fucking with him. Seems to me you’re the only one with a problem with it.  Want some free advice, Weezie?  Lay off.” 

He leaves her glaring after him, muscles his way out of the bathroom past an unfortunate freshman who had unwittingly gotten in his way.

 Things go fairly easy after that. Kurt shows him an engine, makes him memorize parts and what they do. Puck never does homework, but he finds himself staring at webpages for hours on end learning every piece of an engine. They fall into a routine, nice and easy. Kurt gives Puck a ride to the garage and he’ll sit there giving Puck directions on what to do with Mr. Sawyer’s BMW or Ms. Nelson’s fucking sweet vintage Mustang.

Until Wednesday rolls around, and they have to sing a duet in glee. Puck gets paired up with Mercedes and Finn with Kurt. And _that_ is a disaster waiting to happen. It sucked, hearing from Mercedes that he was wrong, that Quinn had every right to shut him out. It hurt to not be able to tell anyone about it. But what was even worse was getting home and realizing what a mistake it had been to blurt it out like that. Because Mercedes would tell Kurt and then they’d tell everyone in Glee.

 They’d tell Finn…

Not to mention that he wouldn’t want anything to do with Puck anymore and then there goes his only source of income right now.

He finds himself heading over to Mr. Hummel’s garage without really thinking about it. It’s become a sort of a habit of his. Out of school? Go to the garage. Mr. Hummel’s there when he arrives but Kurt’s no where in sight. Puck knew he wouldn’t be, not when he has an opportunity to spend time with Finn. 

It’s a mistake to be here, he still doesn’t know enough to work on any of the cars sitting around and it’s not as if his job really involves those vehicles anyway. He’s moving to walk away when Mr. Hummel catches sight of him. There’s this long awkward moment where they just stare at one another before the older man heaves a sigh.

 “Kurt’s not around,” the older man said, going back to what he was doing.

 He can’t make himself say anything, is terrified to admit to this man that he actually rather likes being here. There is no way he can possibly express that these people treat him better than just about any other person he’s ever known. And so he stands around feeling like the scarecrow on the cornfields by the highway and intently studies the worn fabric of his shoes, the ragged ends of his jeans until he catches the sound of the older man heaving a sigh that reminds Puck so much of Kurt he almost smiles.

 “Well come on then,” Mr. Hummel finally says.  “I got something you can tinker with for a while.” 

 Mr. Hummel leads him out back where there’s a sizable collection of junkers. There are two classics set apart from the others and Puck can tell they were beautiful in their day. They’re from the sixties, muscle cars, and Puck imagines that he would look pretty bad-ass behind the wheel of one of them. 

 If they even run, of course.

 “Kurt and me, we’ve been working on these two for some time now,” Mr. Hummel explains, as though he can tell precisely what had been going through Puck’s mind. “It’s takin’ longer than the others; the parts are just rare enough to be a challenge.” He sets one large palm on the one on the right, it’s blue paint chipped and faded, and runs his fingers along it. “This one’s Kurt’s.” His eyes meet Puck’s and there’s fond amusement in them. His lips curl in a look that’s half pride, half incredulity.  “He calls her Diva.”

 Of course he does. Puck feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and scowls fiercely in retaliation. 

 Puck’s so invested in crushing all rebellious thoughts, he nearly misses what Mr. Hummel is saying until he catches, “Pick one.”

 That’s too much. Mr. Hummel is gesturing at the massive array of cars around them. Everything from mustangs to minivans and he’s offering one to Puck? What planet was this guy from, exactly?  Saying how it’ll be good practice, a great way to learn how an engine works if he can dig his hands elbow deep into the very heart of it and not have to worry about ruining Mr. and Mrs. Suburbia’s hard-earned vehicle. And, god, Puck _wants it_. He wishes this man were his father, wishes he had someone this invested and caring in his own life. 

 Mr. Hummel loans him a spare pair of coveralls. They’re old and there are grease stains everywhere. Kurt’s fucking purple sparkly toolbox is resting on the ground next to him as he lifts the lid of the only other car in the entire yard that looks as badass as he is. It has faded yellow paint and old stripes along the sides. She’s dirty and needs more work than he does, but Mr. Hummel gave her to him. She’s _his_. It makes him so happy he hums “Single Ladies” to himself while he works.  The sun beats down on him and it’s the greatest feeling in the world.

He never notices the slender figure of Kurt Hummel standing in the doorway. Never notices how the smaller boy watches him, assessing, before turning and walking away as silently as he had arrived. 


	3. Chapter 3

Afterwards, Kurt’s not sure why he does it. 

It’s not that he hates Rachel, per se.  Oh she’s certainly annoying, and Kurt still hasn’t quite forgiven her for robbing him of his chance to sing Defying Gravity on stage. Not that he doesn’t have good reason to hate her, Defying Gravity incident aside.  Everyone does.  She’s truly the least popular person in the entire school.  If he’s being perfectly honest, the only one who likes her for who she is was Finn. 

Still, no matter how much he may despise her, Kurt’s not proud of what he’s done.  It eats at him, turns his blood into acid and his breath into smoke.  He’s driven so completely out of his mind by it that he hardly pays any attention to Puck at the garage.  It’s technically Puck’s day off but his dad got it into his head to give him one of the junkers and as far as Kurt can see, Puck hasn’t wanted to be more than ten feet from the thing since.  Kurt’s being a good sport about it, hangs around so that when Puck has a question about the mechanics he has an answer right there without having to go pester his dad. 

But today Kurt’s hardly paying him any mind.  Kurt can’t stop seeing the helplessly grateful look on Rachel’s face when he offered to help her.  It makes him sick and he’s honestly afraid he’s about to vomit when Puck  (who must have been trying to get his attention for some time now) grabs him by the shoulder and gives him a shake.

“Dude, hey, are you listening?” 

For the first time all day he actually looks at him and notices that Puck looks distinctly nervous.

“What?” 

Puck shrugs, stuffs his hands in the pockets of the old coveralls.  It makes him look young.  Younger than they are, like a little boy afraid of a scolding.  “I need Friday off.” 

“Uh huh,” is all Kurt can manage to say.  Kurt knows how he must look, that his expression might be just shy of condescending but he can’t help it.  “And why are you telling me?  I’m not your boss, Puck.”

“Man,” Puck begins.  Kurt can’t help but notice how Puck very specifically does not say ‘dude.’ “No offense, but you’re dad’s kinda scary.  If he asks me why I’m gonna miss work I’ll tell ‘em and he won’t like it.”

Kurt sighs, rests his chin in his palm and says, “Well, why _do_ you need Friday off?”

The smile Puck gives him is nothing short of lewd.  “Goin’ on a date with Quinn,” he responds. 

And how utterly crass is it that Puck can actually _say_ that? What makes him think for even a second that Kurt’s not going to tell Finn?  He won’t, of course.  He didn’t tell Finn when Mercedes had called him bursting with the news that Quinn’s baby was Puck’s.  Never said a word to Finn that Quinn asked him to make over Rachel to distract him.

It’s a good thing Finn’s not gay because Kurt is apparently a terrible person who doesn’t deserve him anyway.  Honestly, he doesn’t even deserve to be his friend and it’s a good thing there isn’t glee club tomorrow because Kurt doesn’t think he can be in a room with Finn and Quinn and Puck without going mad.

“Oh,” he hears himself say, his voice sounds so small and he hates it.  “Alright I guess.  I’ll tell him you have to go to the doctor or something.” 

Puck grins at him, ruffles his hair even though he _knows_ how much Kurt hates it.  “Thanks man, I owe you one.”

And then, Puck’s back to bending over the hood of his rusty yellow fixer-upper as though it were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Kurt draws his knees up to his chest and mutters, “You owe me more than _one_.”

 

***

 

When Friday rolls around, Kurt drags Mercedes to the mall.  It’s nothing out of the ordinary for them, really, but she keeps casting him questioning looks that make his skin itch like a hundred flies are crawling around underneath it.  He feels like she can tell he’s done something terrible, or that he’s keeping some awful secret from her.

He lasts four hours.  Through eight different stores, a makeover at the Dillard’s cosmetic counter for Mercedes, a brief snack at the food court and finally Kurt breaks down and tells her everything.  About how he got Puck the job at his dad’s garage, how Puck seems to think they’re friends now in some twisted way.  He tells her what he did to Rachel, and what Puck and Quinn are most likely getting up to at that very moment.

Mercedes listens to him bumble through it; his words jumbled and stressed sounding, without comment.  She just sits across from him and sips her soda, every once and a while munching on a fry.  When he’s done they’re both quiet for a long time, Mercedes absorbing what he’s told her and Kurt wallowing in his own self-loathing.

“What should I do?”  He finally asks, finally, mercifully, killing the silence between them.

Puck’s been sniffing around that girl for a long time now; he’s probably seeing things in it that aren’t there.”  

“Yeah,” he says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.  He tries for a smile but doubts it even comes close.  “I’m sure you’re right.  I won’t worry about it anymore.  Thanks, Mercedes.”

She smiles and shakes a fry at him, “Now don’t you go do something stupid, Kurt.  We can’t tell Finn.  You _know_ we can’t tell Finn.  The second you do that our chances are over and we can kiss Glee Club goodbye faster than Clay Aiken’s career.”

He knows she’s serious because the Aiken thing has been a sore subject with him for years now and if she’s bringing that up there’s no way she’s going to reconsider.  So Kurt gives her another strained smile and focuses his attention on his smoothie for the rest of their mall trip.  And if he’s a little lackluster afterwards, if he doesn’t take the time to properly mock the mannequins like he normally would, Mercedes at least has the decency to be quiet and doesn’t say a thing about it. 

Puck catches him in the schoolyard Monday morning.  Throws an arm across his shoulders, grinning ear to ear.  Kurt kind of wants to slap him when the taller teen starts telling him about his awesome date with Quinn.  How he totally charmed her, convinced her completely that he’d be a good daddy.

Kurt glares at him balefully and says, “If your daughter told you one day that she likes girls what would you do?” 

“Maybe you should think about things like that and ask yourself if you would _really_ be such a great father after all.” 

Puck doesn’t speak to him the rest of the day and Kurt can’t bring himself to care.  So what if Finn casts them both questioning looks all through football practice?  And who cares if while he’s holding the ball for Kurt he keeps asking what’s wrong, saying things like, “I thought you two were friends now?”

“We aren’t,” he says.  “He works for my dad.  I guess he’s just afraid that if I get mad at him I’ll ask my dad to let him go.”

Finn’s quiet for a bit, brow furrowed in concentration.  He tosses the ball from hand to hand for several moments, considering.  “But you’re mad at him now?” he asks for clarification.  Kurt just nods and flips the hair out of his eyes.  “ _Are_ you going to have your dad fire him?”

“No,” Kurt says and glares off to the side as he takes the ball from Finn’s hands.  “My Karma can’t take a hit like that right now.”

He’s beyond thankful that Finn drops it after that.  There’s no telling what he’d say if Finn had kept it up. 

After practice, Kurt heads to his car.  Finn’s tagging along beside him, carrying his and Kurt’s duffels across his shoulders.  His mom had taken Quinn on a shipping trip for the day, and Finn had thrown Kurt his best pleading look and asked to bum a ride home.  And damn if Kurt could say “no” when Finn needed him.

The big guy is practically bounding around him like a giant puppy.  He’s chatting happily about this and that and Kurt’s only half paying attention to what seems to be a random slew of words.  He’s digging through his bag for his keys when,

“Oh, hey Puck,” Finn says and it’s back to reality. 

Kurt looks up in surprise to see Puck leaning against the passenger side door of his baby.  He’s slouching, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his own duffle bag lying at his feet.  Puck looks uncertain, but it’s clear that he has no intention of walking away.

Kurt grips his steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white while Finn and Puck talk around him.  Finn is sitting beside him in the passenger seat, he’s turned most of the way around so that he and Puck are facing.  Puck’s not wearing his seatbelt.  Again.  He never does when Kurt makes him get in the back.  It doesn’t happen too often, just when Mercedes or Tina, or in a very rare once in a while Rachel or Brittney, need a ride home.  The seatbelt is like a symbol to him or something.  Like, he’s not actually sitting in the back he’s just hanging back there until they get to whoever’s house and he can clamber up to the front so long as he never buckles up. 

Kurt’s never really been able to get a handle on it, but he certainly doesn’t understand what Puck’s thinking most the time anyway.  He also doesn’t know when he became the unofficial Glee Club Taxi.  It’s a little annoying, as if he has nothing better to do than drive everyone else around.  And he would really like to know when he started giving up after school mall trips, spending time with Tina and Mercedes, and losing time dedicated to learning the latest hip dances, just so that he can sit around telling Puck how to do his job. 

They pull up to Finn’s house not an instant too soon.  Kurt’s not one-hundred-percent on his ability to sit by and watch Puck and Finn chat happily together, not when he knows what he knows.  Finn smiles at him, broad and beautiful, and thanks him for the ride before he swings out the door and takes off for the front steps of his home.  Puck’s climbed up and is already strapping himself in and Kurt just needs a second to _breathe_ or he’s going to go mad. 

“Hey,” he’s close to hyperventilating but he still manages to turn and look at Puck who is regarding him with a wary expression. “You ok?” 

And Kurt wants to say ‘yes.’  He wants to paste a smile on his face and pull out of Finn’s driveway and just go.  He wants to keep on ignoring everything, at least long enough so that he doesn’t wind up having his breakdown _here_ of all places.  Not here, not with Finn just a short distance away.  He wants to shrug the whole thing off so badly his very bones ache with it.

But when he opens his mouth to do all that ‘yes’ isn’t what comes out.  Instead what comes out is:

“Of course not!  How can you _stand_ it?”  He’s close to screaming, knows he must sound near hysterical by the wide-eyed expression on Puck’s face but he can’t rein anything in any longer to keep it bottled up and every last emotion comes tearing out of him so fast he’s barely able to hiss out those few words before he’s jerking the gearshift and tearing down the street.  He may have just snapped but he’s still not about to have his break down where Finn can see. 

“Hummel, dude _what_?”

“I’m taking you to the garage.  I’m dropping you off and then I’m going _home_.   I can’t even look at you right now,” he seethes.   He feels his eyes burning from the effort it takes not to cry.  “If it weren’t the fact that we wouldn’t stand a chance at sectionals without him I would tell Finn.  I would tell Finn _everything_ because he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Oh right,” there’s so much rage and hurt in Puck’s voice it’s terrifying and for a moment Kurt genuinely thinks he’s about to be punched, but all Puck does is continue to snarl at him.  “Poor perfect Finn-”

“You’re a monster, you know that?  Utterly despicable!  I don’t even know why Quinn would ever let you touch her let alone-”

“Pull over.”

“No.  Are you insane?  You think I’m actually going to stop the car?  Just _let_ you hit me?”

“I don’t hurt people!”

“Oh right, _of course_ you don’t.”

“Fuck you!  What did I do to you?  Throw you in some dumpsters, oh yeah that must have hurt like a bitch!”

“You were going to roll Artie down a hill in a port-a-potty!  What in the world do you think was going to happen to him?  Are you that dense that you honestly think he’d be ok after something like that?”

“He already can’t walk what’s the worst that could happen?”

The tires screech when Kurt slams on the breaks.  He is beyond livid, can’t even bother to mentally apologize to his baby before turning to Puck and ordering him out of the car.  “I don’t know why I even bothered helping you in the first place!  You obviously don’t care about anyone but yourself.  You don’t deserve Finn, you don’t even deserve Quinn.  And you certainly don’t deserve glee club.  You’re a terrible person and if you don’t know why then you’ll be a terrible father too!” 

“You know what, Hummel?  Fuck you.  Fuck you and this pity job.  I don’t need this shit.”  And Puck yanks the door open and slams it shut behind him with entirely too much force.  It shakes the car and Kurt hates himself for the way he flinches.  As Puck stomps off in the direction of his house Kurt sits there in his car, watching.  He half expects Puck to come back, to climb back in so they can head over to the garage.  But Puck’s figure is getting smaller and smaller until he turns a corner and Kurt can’t see him anymore at all. 

He’s not sure what just happened.  He’s never been the sort to get into arguments. Oh, sure, he’ll have a heated discussion with the girls about fashion, music, television… normal stuff; stuff that doesn’t matter. 

But he’s the type that shuts down when he gets mad, more likely to become depressed than angry.  Passive-aggressive, rather than aggressive.  That’s what he is. 

But this? 

This overly dramatic screaming match in the car in broad daylight where anyone can see?  That’s not his style.  And now he regrets even opening his mouth in the first place because now he feels guilty again and he was just starting to forgive himself for the whole Rachel fiasco, too. 

Several long moments pass while Kurt scowls at his dashboard before he finally jerks the car into drive and takes off after Puck.  The older boy doesn’t look up when Kurt rolls up next to him, although the intensity of his glare kicks up a notch. 

“Puck.  Puck I’m _sorry_ , ok?  I’m sure you’ll be a great father,” he yells out the window.  He’s driving on the wrong side of the road in order to have this conversation and every bit of him is thanking God that the traffic on this street is virtually nonexistent.  “I mean, you’re obviously dedicated right?  And, uh, there are plenty of guys in your position who would be perfectly happy letting Finn deal with this but you… come on, please just get in the car?  I’ll even let you pick the music…” 

But much to Kurt’s relief, Puck gets in the car.  If he were being perfectly honest, Kurt would say he hadn’t been expecting that.  He hasn’t even considered the possibility that Puck wouldn’t just give him the finger and storm away.  This, unfortunately, means he’s left sitting rather dumbstruck in the car for a very long moment before Puck finally bites out, “You’re kind of a bitch, aren’t you, Hummel?”

It’s completely unreasonable that that sets him off, that he doubles over he’s laughing so hard.  But Mercedes likes to say pretty much the same thing from time to time.  Says it with pretty much the exact same tone and with that same exasperated look on her face. 

“I’m an openly gay boy in Lima,” he says.  “I have to be extra fabulous to make up for all the rest of you.” 

And just like that, their shaky truce is back in place.  In the back of their minds they know it’s only temporary.  Sooner or later, this will all come crashing down on them, like it always does.  And Puck won’t fool himself for even a second thinking that when it does, anyone is going to side with him. 

Especially not Kurt. 

 

***

 

The thing about Puck is he’s convinced himself that he will always get the short end of the stick.  That no matter what he does or what he has, it’s all crap compared to what everyone else has.  So, despite the fact that he had been dating a very pretty and popular cheerio, it wasn’t good enough because Finn was dating Quinn, and it was undeniable that Finn was top dog.  And even though he was quite good at football, it was Finn who was the quarterback.  Or even that while his mom was nice in her own way, she didn’t even hold a candle to the pie baking, sheet washing, wonder-mom that Finn had.

He hadn’t really noticed it when they were younger, and maybe that’s how it was allowed to grow into this hideous little habit of his.  ‘If Finn has something, it’s better than mine.  If Finn has something, I want it,’ and that was the code by which he lived.

Sometimes it felt like he and Finn were funhouse mirror images of one another.  Like somehow Finn’s perfect life was morphed and misshapen and that was Puck’s.  Football, glee, cheerleader girlfriends, single mothers and all.  But while Finn’s father had been forced to leave through means of a valiant and honorable death, Puck’s had hightailed it and left his mother with not one, but two kids. 

It doesn’t take too much effort to slip by the woman at the front desk.  He doesn’t have a membership and for some reason, they totally don’t like him being there without it.  Fuck ‘em, he just wants to sit for a while, it’s not like he’s ‘using the facilities’ or anything.  Just a few short moments and he’s pushing the doors to his favorite pool open.  The sense of calm is almost as instantaneous as the whiff of chlorine that had just hit his nostrils, and he breathes a sigh of relief before sliding down the wall. 

It’s only once he’s seated on the cold tiles that he notices he’s not alone.  Someone’s in the pool, slightly muscular arms arching up out of the water and sliding in without sound or splash.  The memories hit him with all the subtle force of a sledgehammer.  He remembers now, remembers his days spent huddled like some sort of refuge against the walls, remembers a boy who used to swim.  Puck remembers a shaky smile and clear blue eyes, a boy who sat next to him and called him Noah and said _I’m Kurt_.

Puck bangs his head against the glass paneling behind him.  He releases the self-deprecating laughter that bubbles up inside him as all the implications hit him.  And when he finally manages to calm down, Puck just crosses his hands behind his head and smiles.

“Well, fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

For all that it could have been, the fallout is relatively anticlimactic.  Once the high of winning sectionals wears off, they find themselves caught in a constant state of anticipation.  It’s like limbo in a way; everyone is just waiting for something to happen. 

Nothing does, of course. 

Finn stops talking to Quinn and Puck completely.  If he has something to say to either of them, he either uses another member of glee club as his mouthpiece, or he speaks to the group as a whole.  If it just so happens that they are included, then so be it. 

And while Quinn and Puck receive the brunt of his anger and resentment, the others aren’t immune.  Finn doesn’t look at any of them the same way he used to. 

Except Rachel, of course, because Rachel was a good friend to Finn, because she told him when no one else would. 

Finn runs to her side and stays there and Kurt watches and smiles ruefully to himself every time because it’s his own doing, really.  This is his punishment for being such a terrible person.  He didn’t tell Finn and so now he has to watch while _Rachel_ of all people wins his crush’s heart. 

Kurt bypasses his usual method of retail therapy and goes for the big guns.  His greatest weapon against stress relief is swimming and has been since his father first mentioned it all those years ago.  He spends a solid two days sitting by the pool glaring at it as though the heat of his stare will warm the water enough for it to be tolerable. 

It proves to be futile, of course.  He supposes he was just putting off the inevitable moment where he relents and throws a bag with his swimming gear into his baby and heads to the Y.  He hasn’t been there since he started high school, hasn’t actually thought about it all that much.  But the Y has heated pools and he needs the peace that comes from being submerged in nothing but rippling liquid calm. 

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been at all surprised to be greeted by the sensation of eyes on him when he clambers out of the water.  He spent several weeks here and he’d had an audience for most of them.  Still, when he turns and sees Puck sprawled out on the tiles with his back against the glass and very much watching, it catches Kurt completely off guard. 

He hesitates for what seems like an eternity before slowly making his way over and sinking down next to the taller boy.  Neither of them says anything for a long moment before Puck bumps him with his shoulder to get his attention and they both get to their feet. 

“So,” Puck starts, clearing his throat.  “I’ve totally been coming here every day since I figured it out a couple weeks ago.” 

Considering the fact that Puck was watching him, has been apparently waiting for Kurt here at a public swimming pool for a while, Kurt’s fairly proud at how steady and nonchalant he sounds when he opens his mouth to ask Puck just what in the world he’s talking about.

“Couple years ago, my dad took off on my mom,” he says, cutting Kurt off before he gets a chance to get out the customary ‘sorry’ that goes along with something like that.  Kurt decides to just listen.  “And I had this dumbass idea to try and follow him, right?  Course I don’t know where he’s headed and I have absolutely shit chances of catching him, but I’m young and stupid so I try it anyway.  By the time I get around here I figure it’s a lost cause and give up chasing him.  But there’s that damn little kid pride to consider so I don’t wanna head home where my mom’s crying like he wasn’t some asshole anyway and my little sister’s sitting in her room and putting all her boy dolls in a box, ‘cuz daddies leave, right?

“So I figure I’ll hide out here and nobody will bug me.  End up slipping into this one room with lots of windows cuz I think it’s empty.  It’s not, there’s some kid in the water but he’s not making any noise and he doesn’t look like he’s gonna turn me in to the reception lady so I sit and I watch him and when the kid gets outta the pool he doesn’t say anything and I take off.  But I felt better, ya know?  Zen and shit, I guess.  So I go back.  And I _keep_ goin’ back and eventually this kid and me we get to talkin’.  And he calls me ‘Noah’ and do you know what his name was, Hummel?”

Through the entire speech Kurt felt a pit open up in his stomach, felt the world as he knew it was about to crumble and fall down it.  What Puck’s saying, there’s just no way. 

Except… if he tilts his head and squints he can almost see it. 

He’s taller now, of course.  And Puck wasn’t sporting the Mohawk back then.  But when he actually looks into Puck’s eyes he can see the melancholy boy he used to be.  He knows those eyes, sees them when he closes his at night sometimes. 

Puck doesn’t wait for an answer, walks forward and uses his sheer presence to force Kurt backward until his back connects with chilly glass.  “For years, dude, I’ve been coming to the fucking _Y_ ‘cuz I think back and I remember that it made me feel better.  And the whole damn time it wasn’t the Y, was it Hummel?”

“How-How the hell am I supposed to know?  This is your twisted up head we’re talking about here and I _really_ don’t see why you need to involve me in it.” 

He hates how high and shrill his voice gets when he panics.  He’s not usually exposed to it, doesn’t usually allow himself to feel threatened.  But Puck isn’t really making sense, and is throwing out conflicting signals with every breath, and Kurt really wishes he had just stayed home and glared at the pool some more.  Who knows, it might have eventually worked. 

Puck ignores everything he says as if he doesn’t even hear it.  “See, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I think maybe I used to have a crush on you or something.  Explains a lot of things.  Explains why I like the fucking _Y_ so much.  I mean, not like this place is anything special.  It’d totally explain why I’ve always been so god damn fixated on you.”

“What???”  And that was practically a squawk, but Kurt isn’t in the mood to feel embarrassed right now.  Embarrassment is kind of at the bottom of feelings that he’s registering at the moment, because Mr. Jock himself has apparently taken it upon himself to throw Kurt’s entire universe out of whack. 

And Puck doesn’t even have the decency to stop this current train-wreck. 

“You show up at the school and I remember seeing you and thinking ‘awesome’ which didn’t make any fucking sense so of course I figured my inner asshole…”  He very pointedly doesn’t respond to Kurt’s shocked ‘inner?’ comment and plows on,“…saw you as a prime target.”

Kurt flounders for a moment, lips moving soundlessly until he manages to force out, “So wait, let me get this straight.  The entire time you’ve known me, all the dumpster trips and the names and the-the _harassment_ …that was you flirting?” 

Puck gives a little one-shoulder shrug and that’s agreement enough for Kurt who can’t take it anymore.  “Are you insane?!  What is wrong with you?  And this, what is this?  You think that if you confess all your problems to me and say how I always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside I’m going to do _what_ exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Puck says with a snort.  “Look, I just figured we could make out or something,” he says in a cavalier tone as if it were the most logical next step.  “I already had the whole freak out thing about being attracted to a dude.  Figure since you already know that shit about yourself we could get right to the fun stuff.”

“OW.” 

Puck flinches from the next flailing limb he sees coming, takes a few measured steps away.  “What the hell, Hummel?” 

He throws his hands up in defeat, completely unable to communicate just how much he cannot believe this is happening.  “All this, all this and then you still can’t even say my _name_?  It’s not like it’s hard.  Four letters.  _Four_ , Puck, same as yours.  Nice and easy and simple so even you-”

Whatever else he’s going to say, whatever he wants to say, get cut off when Puck lays big hands on his arms and yanks him in for a kiss.  It’s fine, as far as kisses go.  Puck’s very good at what he does, after all.  But this is Kurt’s first kiss and it has come from nowhere from a boy he never expected to share so much as an amiable handshake with.  Kurt flails pathetically, mouth clamped shut tight until Puck draws back.  He lets go slower than he moved away, fingers gliding feather light across the damp, exposed, skin. 

When he manages to catch his breath Kurt looks up at the taller boy through wet bangs and says only one word: “no”. 

He doesn’t elaborate or explain, but when Puck moves in, tries to get another taste, Kurt places his pruney fingers against the soft cotton of Puck’s shirt and gives a gentle shove. 

When Puck backs up, his eyes express confusion, but Kurt doesn’t bother to explain.  He just gathers up his towel and walks away.

Puck spends all of glee the next day staring at the empty chair next to Mercedes and wishing he didn’t always fuck everything up before he even got a chance to enjoy it. 

 

***

 

In the grand scheme of things, Kurt Hummel missing from school for a few days shouldn’t be that big of a deal.  But when two glee club meetings come and go and there’s still no sign of him, Puck doesn’t think he can stand it. 

He’s not good with rejection when it’s outright, but this sick little avoidance game is too much.  If Kurt doesn’t want him hanging around then he better fucking say it to his face.  It’s this thought process that lead Puck to where he is now: banging like a lunatic on the Hummels’ front door. 

It’s nearly five minutes before Puck hears the sound of locks being undone and the door opens slowly to reveal none other than Kurt Hummel himself.  Kurt Hummel, who’s wrapped up in a huge down comforter, eyes puffy and nose running and red.  His hair is sticking up in all directions and his expression is one of hazy annoyance. 

Puck takes this all in in a matter of seconds.  And while his brain is busy singing about how Kurt hasn’t been avoiding him, that he’s been sick in bed, his mouth comes up with the most brilliant comment _ever_.

“You’re sick!”

Kurt’s eyelids drop so that he’s regarding Puck with a slit stare.  “Really?  How astute of you.”  He doesn’t wait for Puck to gather the brain cells to reply, just turns and shuffles back into the house.  He leaves the door open though, so Puck follows him inside without a second thought. 

When he turns back from closing the door, he barely catches the tail end of Kurt’s blanket train before it disappears down the stairs.  It’s like another open door, another open invitation, and Puck accepts easily. 

The downstairs is like an OCD bachelor pad.  It’s spotless and white.  The carpet, the couch, the chairs, the bedding, everything, all of it was white as snow.  And even though this isn’t the first time he’s seen it Puck is still surprised by the choice of it.  It clashes completely with the colorful spectacle Kurt always makes with his wardrobe. 

There’s a big screen television in front of the couch and Ryan Seacrest is talking about some celebrity or another that Puck’s not sure he’s heard of and is certain he doesn’t care about.

Puck hovers uselessly for several moments before eventually settling on one of the comfortable looking chairs near the couch.  He kicks his legs out and toes off his shoes, so obviously settling in for the long haul.  Kurt raises an eyebrow in his direction but doesn’t otherwise comment.

“You know this is the second time I’ve been in your room, dude.” 

Kurt gives a little twitch in response, turns slowly to look at Puck with a heavy stare, made all the more intense by the puffy bruises forming under his eyes.  “When were you in my room before?”

“Dude,” Kurt forgot, seriously?  “That time you were teaching me about tools and you got shitfaced?  Had to carry your ass home.  Put you to bed and everything.”  His smile turns sleazy and he leans in close, “Admit it, I was your big strong man.”

His efforts are rewarded with a deadpanned expression, one that clearly shouts: I am not amused.  But Puck knows he totally is. 

They sit in silence for a long while, watching as some damn big-breasted airhead on E! gabs about useless nonsense some more.  Kurt’s started sliding slightly and, eventually, he’s lying down with his head pillowed on the armrest.  He’s asleep before too long and Puck knows he should probably leave, but Kurt didn’t tell him to, and his job _is_ to keep an eye on the little dancing queen after all, so Puck figures he can stay down here as long as he wants. 

When Puck wakes up the next morning, two thoughts rush to the fore of his mind before all others.  First is how much his neck fucking hurts from how he slept in the chair, and riding along on its coattails is a deep chilling fear when he looks over and doesn’t instantly see Kurt on the sofa. 

Of course, once he manages to calm himself down, he realizes that at some point during the night someone had covered him in a blanket and that Kurt had somehow been moved from the couch to his bed. 

Puck crushes the heel of his palms to his eyes and groans at the aches in his body.  Fuck sleeping in chairs, seriously.  He’s never doing this again.  The second the thought passes through his mind, though, he remembers being really young and sick and having his mom sitting up at his bedside for hours just to make sure he was ok. 

He’d be willing to go through this for his kid.  He’d be willing to do anything if only Quinn hadn’t basically told him she didn’t want shit to do with him. 

It’s pretty chill, actually.  Kurt doesn’t seem too interested in conversation.  He eats his cereal with a listless enthusiasm, pausing only to cough or sneeze into a Kleenex before he balls them up and chucks them into the trash bin beside his bed.  Once his breakfast is done though its open season.  He sets his empty bowl down and looks at Puck with that same dead expression that makes it look like he’s pissed.

“What’ve I missed in Glee Club?”  He asks finally.  He doesn’t look at Puck when he says it, plucks pathetically at his blanket instead.

“Not too much,” Puck says carefully. “Mr. Schue has us doing trust exercises.  I don’t think he’s too happy with the whole ‘baby-drama’ thing.  Keeps frowning at us.  Which totally sucks, dude, because he has Miss P. doing it now too.  And nothing sucks more than having ‘em looking at you with that ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ look.  Ya know?”    

Kurt coughs in response. 

Puck ends up skipping school to stay in Kurt’s basement watching crappy reality television on Bravo with him.  Some of it is seriously bad enough that Puck genuinely wants to gouge his own eyes out.  But some of it isn’t all that bad.  There’s some show about a chick who says “penis” a lot and sets rich dudes up with hot chicks that makes Puck snicker more than a little bit.  It’s all worth it, though, for the almost fond smile Kurt sends him periodically. 

It takes a few days, but eventually Kurt is back to his old self again.  And if his voice is still a bit hoarse and scratchy, the rest of glee club does their best not to mention it. 

He sits next to Mercedes.  They lean in close, sharing whispered secrets and smiles.  Puck tries not to be jealous, but Kurt’s the first person to smile at him since Finn found out the truth about the baby and, damnit, Puck was the one who sat with Kurt for a whole day and a half.  Where the fuck is the love? 

Mercedes still watches him with a suspicious glare whenever she catches him looking Kurt’s way.  If Kurt weren’t fruitier than Crunch-Berries, Puck would think she was a jealous girlfriend.  Of course, the fact of the matter is, that Kurt totally _is_ fruitier than Crunch-Berries and thus Puck has no clue why she often looks like she’d just love to go a few rounds with him in a ring.

A couple days after Kurt’s back at school, Puck walks into the music room and finds Kurt sitting backwards in a chair while he braids Brittany’s hair.  Santana is seated in front of the blonde who is happily playing with her hair and chatting about rainbows, or puppies, or… something.  Kurt and Mercedes are talking about plans for the weekend.  Something about one of those stupid reality shows they all seem to like so much.  Not that Puck’s against _all_ reality shows, of course.  Because Deadliest Catch and Survivorman are pretty much the epitome of awesome as far as he’s concerned.

It’s while he’s standing near the entrance like an idiot thinking about the awesome of some of those dudes that Kurt looks up from his work on Brittany’s hair and smiles at him.  When he smiles, Kurt’s practically the prettiest thing Puck’s ever seen.  Prettier than Quinn when she’d laughed and thrown flour at him, or Rachel leaning down and brushing a damp cloth against his face to clean the slushy away. 

“Puck,” Kurt calls, jerking his chin in lieu of waving him over since his hands are still occupied with Brittany’s hair.  Puck makes his way over and grabs the chair next to Kurt, twisting it around so he can rest his arms against the back.

“What’s up, Hummel?”

And, oh, the look Kurt sends him is positively _evil_.  “The girls and I were thinking of watching a Project Runway marathon this weekend.  You know, the one about fashion designers?”  He’s snickering and Puck really wants to know what’s going through his head right now.  He smells a set up.  Especially when Mercedes hides a smile behind her hand and Brittany and Santana share a _look_.  Whenever girls exchange glances things never end well. 

‘But what the hell,’ Puck decided.  If it gave him another in, he’d put up with whatever shit they dished out.

“…Yeah?”  Puck drawled out as hesitantly as humanly possible.  Puck _knows_ he isn’t going to like this.  Knows he’ll agree to whatever Kurt asks of him regardless. 

The others are watching them.  Tina is leaning in close to Artie, her smile nearly a match for the one Kurt’s sporting.  Like they see the trap he’s about to step into, but know he has no idea how to avoid it.  Artie himself is playing a few cords on his guitar and looking like he’d very much like to ignore the entire thing.  Mike and Matt are sprawled out on the steps by Finn, acting for all the world like they’re just shooting the shit, but Puck sees how their eyes are on him, sees how hard they’re trying not to laugh.  Quinn and Rachel are staring blatantly, dawning matching expressions of expected exasperation. 

It’s a trap, a complete and utter trap, but Puck’s not about to say ‘no.’ Not in a million years, so long as Kurt’s eyes are shining with challenge like they are now.  He’s never backed down from a challenge in his life and he sure as hell isn’t about to start now.  He can sit through some stupid chick show, no sweat. 

He shrugs his shoulders, “Sure, dude.  Whatever.” 

If anything, Kurt’s smile gets wider and even more diabolical.  No way Hummel’s going to think he won this for even a second longer.  “That’s the one where a bunch of models strip down, right?” 

The guys seem to completely forget they are pretending not to pay attention and their heads snap over in their direction almost as soon as their brains register “model” and “strip” just came out of Puck’s mouth.  Their eyes glaze over just picturing it but Puck only has eyes for how Kurt’s expression darkens, but how that smile never falls away. 

Kurt tilts his head so that he and Mercedes can smirk at one another before turning back to Brittany’s hair. 

He doesn’t spare Puck another look the rest of rehearsal. 

 

***

 

There’s no cars needing repair at the garage, and Kurt had apparently made sure all of the books were in order while he recovered, so Mr. Hummel spends most of the day with Puck and his bright yellow hunk of junk.  He goes agonizingly slow through his explanation of things. 

A lot like Kurt did when he went over the tools. 

Except Mr. Hummel’s expression is gentler, his voice smoother. 

Like he’s used to explaining things to people, like he actually cares if they get it or not.  When Puck mentions it while they have the hood popped and the engine partly dismantled Mr. Hummel ruffles his hair like he does with Kurt.  Says it’s all part of being father, learning how to explain things without getting annoyed when they don’t get it right straight away. 

Puck thinks that if Quinn lets him anywhere near their kid he’d give anything to be a father like Mr. Hummel.  And if his little girl ends up being a raging bitch like Kurt, then that’s fine.  Because Kurt is loved and Kurt loves his father and they’re fucking happy even if Kurt’s mom’s dead.  He tells Mr. Hummel this too before he can stop himself and Mr. Hummel just sort of stares at him for a long time before digging back into the engine. 

For the most part, Mr. Hummel is perfectly willing to buy him any parts his new darling may need.  That is, of course, after he’s scoured all the junkers to see if there’s a suitable part hiding in one of them. 

The cars Mr. Hummel keeps lying around are all pieces of crap, none of them run properly (or at all in some cases).  But in general, they all have parts that are perfectly functioning and Puck spends hours rooting around through clunker after clunker searching for this piece or that.  Sometimes he finds one that works, sometimes he doesn’t and one has to be ordered for him.  Either way he’s endlessly pleased whenever he gets it in his hands and gets to put it in _his_ car. 

Either Kurt or Mr. Hummel is almost always there, watching.  They never offer to help, only stepping in if Puck asks.  And that’s fucking refreshing as hell, having people who think he can handle something, who expect him to be able to do it on his own.

It’s great, totally awesome and Puck beams like a madman when he looks up one day after completing the engine to see Kurt seated on the hood of a nearby wreck with Mr. Hummel standing beside him and they’re smiling at him like they’re proud and it shouldn’t hurt and feel as good as it does, but Puck loves it anyway.  His old man doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.  His fucking loss not to see his kid grow up to be a man. 

“I’m going to be a father,” he says to Kurt that evening.  They are sitting in his car.  It still isn’t up and running yet, too many little things he still hasn’t replaced but he likes sitting in it, and Kurt had apparently felt like indulging him today. 

“I know,” Kurt’s looking at him like he’s crazy, because _obviously_ Kurt knows about the baby thing.  Puck told him and the rest of glee club about Quinn’s condition himself.  But that’s not what Puck means, and even though he’d snuck off for an hour to convince some scum-bags outside the gas station to buy him booze, he isn’t so drunk yet he’s babbling like that. 

“No, dude,” and that’s where Kurt scowls right on cue.  “I mean I’m going to actually be a father to the kid, you know?  Like your dad, man.  I’m gonna be supportive and awesome and she’s going to love me ‘cuz I ain’t gonna leave her.” 

A strange expression crosses Kurt’s face when he says, “Wait a sec…her as in the baby, or her as in Quinn?” 

It’s funny, he realizes, how after she told him flat out she doesn’t want anything to do with him he hasn’t been including Quinn in the equation at all.  He seems to have gotten it into his head that once Quinn has her she’s Puck’s.  Quinn doesn’t want her, wants to put her up for adoption or whatever.  And Puck looked it up, because no matter what anyone says about him if he wants to learn about something he can so whatever, and if she doesn’t want her he has dibs.  He’s the father so if Quinn says “pass” Puck gets her.  He’s already started thinking up names, not that he’s told anyone.  He likes Katie and Holly the best right now. 

“The baby, duh.  In case you haven’t noticed, dude, but Quinn hates my guts.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes and slouches down in his seat.  They’re in the back so they can sprawl properly and have been working their way through Puck’s case of beer for a couple hours now.  They aren’t drinking very much.  Kurt says he has to drive Puck’s ass home and he doesn’t want any repeat performances of his past drunken experiences.  And Puck’s holding back simply because Kurt is. 

“Don’t call me ‘dude’,” he mutters, “It’s stupid.”

“What do you want me to call you then, huh, _dude_?”

That earns him the stink-eye but there’s that slight hint of a curl at the corner of Kurt’s mouth he gets sometimes that means he’s trying his damndest not to be amused when he really is.  “How about ‘Kurt’, huh?  I think we’ve been over this before.”  He frowns, obviously trying to place the last time it took place.

Puck grins warm and thick like molasses and scoots closer, “You mean the time I pinned you against the wall and kissed the crap out of you?  Yeah I don’t think we ever finished that conversation.” 

Kurt snorts and shoots Puck this helplessly amused look before taking a swig of his drink.  He’s only on his first beer and probably won’t get much farther than that.  One sip in and Kurt had blanched, clearly not pleased with the taste. 

“You think you’re just _so_ smooth don’t you?” Kurt says.  Once upon a time, Puck would have emptied his beer over Kurt’s head for a comment like that.  Now he can clearly hear the joking behind it, the gentle teasing lilt his voice takes on. 

“I don’t think shit, man.  I _am_ smooth.  There’s no lady around who doesn’t want a piece of me.”

He flexes his muscles exaggeratedly and relishes how Kurt outright laughs at his antics.  “Oh yes,” Kurt says with a roll of his eyes, “they can’t keep their hands off you.  Except Brittany, Santana, Quinn… hmm Rachel now I believe?  And of course, Tina, and Oooh! It never does to forget Mercedes, who, for some strange reason, seems quite keen on mauling you every time she sees you.”  Kurt places a slender hand on Puck’s shoulder and gives it a gentle shove, “You’re right.  They can’t get enough of you.  One question though, Romeo.  If you’re such a ladies’ man why are you in the backseat of a clunker with the token gay kid, huh?” 

Puck turns on the full extent of his charm.  Bedroom eyes and smile, rolls the muscles in his shoulders and crowds in close.  Kurt doesn’t so much as blink, just turns his eyes up to meet Puck’s where he’s looming over him.  Puck can see Kurt struggling to keep a straight face when he says:

“Oh yes, now _that_ ’s certainly charming.” 

“Oh whatever, Princess, you love it.”  And then, just for kicks, he licks Kurt’s cheek and crows to himself when Kurt “eews” appropriately and rubs at his cheek with the heel of the hand still curled around his beer. 

They spend another couple of hours holed up in that yellow hunk of junk.  All smiles and laughter and both of them feeling younger and more innocent than they have in years.  Afterwards, when Kurt drops Puck off at his house, Puck walks to his sister’s room and watches her sleep for a little bit.  He tries to imagine what his daughter is going to look like.  Lightens his sister’s hair and skin, adds more freckles.  He can’t quite get it right and it doesn’t really matter all that much what his girl is going to look like.  She’s already loved and nothing she does or says or is can change that. 

He’s going to be a _father_.

His mom’s waiting for him in his room when he eventually makes his way there.  She’s holding a picture of them from a few years ago, back when his deadbeat son of a bitch father was still around.  She looks up when she hears him at the door and he can already tell she’s been crying.

“It was our anniversary yesterday,” she says as if she’s saying it’d been cloudy or sunny or raining, “I completely forgot about it until today while I was cleaning the mantel.”  She jiggles the photo slightly, as if to emphasize it’s what reminded her.  “He was a horrible brute of a man, Noah.  Your father was no better than the Nazis.  No better than the men who terrorized and destroyed our people.”

Puck suddenly really doesn’t like where this is going.

“I love you, Noah.  You’re my boy and I will always love you.  But there are rumors I keep hearing and that I don’t want to be true.”  She sets the photo on the bed and presses a kiss to his forehead, “Don’t be like your father, Noah.  Don’t ever be like him.”  Up close, he smells the alcohol on her and he hopes she can’t smell it on him in turn. 

“not gonna be mom.”  He says, wills her to believe him with every ounce of his being.  He’s not going to be a lima loser, he’s not going to be his father.  Puck’s going to be the type of person his kid can be proud of, that his mom can be proud of.  He knows he’s always been an asshole, knows that that’s how people see him.  But he’s trying his damndest to change and he hopes it’s enough.

His mom presses another kiss to his skin before she stumbles from his room and to her own. 

The next day he starts looking for the cheapest apartments he can find that aren’t a health hazard.  He’s been bent over the classifieds and print-outs from Craig’s list for several hours when his phone vibrates on his desk.  It’s a reminder from Kurt about later that evening, not to forget Project Runway and all its fabulous whatever.  He promises he won’t and snaps his phone shut before returning to his search result.  A two bedroom would be best, one for him and one for the baby.  But the prices are way more than he can afford.  Mr. Hummel pays him really well; he gets around a hundred bucks a week give or take. But that’s only about four-hundred bucks he has for food and utilities and rent a month.  He needs another job.

 

***

 

Puck heads out the door and bikes to Kurt’s house a few hours later.  Mr. Hummel’s car isn’t in the driveway so Puck figures he’s either at work or made his escape at the on slot of girls that undoubtedly invaded his home.  There’s a note on the door telling all guests to let themselves in so Puck pushes open the door and heads downstairs.  The sight that greets him nearly makes him fall down the stairs face first.  Kurt’s on the floor, hands and feet bracing him and he arches his back.  Brittany is standing by him, trying to tell him how to kick so that he winds up on his feet again except she keeps getting side tracked and Kurt keeps laughing so it all results in Kurt in a _way_ too sexual position when Puck makes his entrance. 

They take a few moments to notice him but when they do Mercedes calls out, “Puckerman’s here.  Token straight boy has arrived!”  From beside her Matt gives out an annoyed “HEY!”  Which is completely ignored by everyone.  Kurt tilts his head and gives Puck another one of those evil smiles before letting his arms relax and sinking down to the floor. 

“Well hello~o Puck.  Finally decided to join the party?”  Again, that feeling of walking into a trap sinks in, but Puck shoves it away and crouches down next to Kurt who doesn’t do anything more than smile. 

“Have you been drinking?” Puck asks, and shoots an accusing look at Matt who has apparently returned to his task of painting Mercedes’ nails neon green. 

“Oh come on, Puckerman,” Mercedes admonishes, “It’s not like you don’t get my boy drunk all the dang time, anyway.”  She winks at Matt who poorly covers a laugh with a cough.

“That’s totally different,” Puck answers.  The others chuckle, but no one comments on it.  There’s a stack of DVDs on the coffee table where Tina is seated on the floor in front of Artie.  She has a sketch-pad open and is doodling whoever catches her eye.  She has a picture of Matt and Mercedes, one of Brittany, Santana, and Kurt dancing, and now she has one of Puck crouched down low and leaning over Kurt lying flat on his back.  It’s her favorite of the bunch.  Artie smiles and shows her the picture he took with his camera so she can use it for reference if she needs to. 

All the while the TV is on and what Puck assumes is the show is playing in the background while the lot of them generally make fools of themselves.  At some point, they all try to squeeze on the couch but it’s a failed endeavor, even when Brittany gives up her seat and clambers into Santana’s lap.  Kurt just laughs and produces face paint from somewhere. 

He’s in the middle of painting a rainbow on Brittany’s cheek when Mike shows up.  He halts halfway down the stairs and takes them all in.  Face-paint and nail-polish and fashion designers.  Puck watches him with a raised eyebrow and waits to see if he’ll bolt.  Finally he heaves a sigh and flops down on the floor with his back propped against the couch.  Kurt pats his head and slides onto Matt’s legs so he can draw a series of music notes on his face. 

In the end, none of them really pay too much attention to the show.  Although, judging how Kurt and Mercedes say some of the lines along with the show they probably don’t need to be paying all that much attention anyway. 

And while at the moment the others aren’t doing much more than quietly snickering to one another or throwing pointed looks his way Puck knows that tomorrow they’re really going to start up with the teasing.  Because if they didn’t know something was going on between him and Kurt before they sure as hell do now.  Santana is going to be the hardest to deal with he just knows it.  Especially with how she and Brittany keep passing a little notepad back and forth.  They are so plotting and Puck is not ok with that.  Nuh-uh. 

They leave in a series of ones and twos.  Artie’s dad comes and he and Tina say their goodbyes.  Santana and Brittany have to go to Cheerios practice and they each give Kurt a kiss of the cheek before they go.  He beams at them as they leave.  Then Mercedes and Mike leave with Matt whose car may be a rundown piece of junk but it runs just fine.  They all go until it’s just Puck, Kurt, and the face-paint. 

Puck doesn’t even pretend to mind when Kurt slides into his lap, blue eyes laughing, brandishing a paintbrush.  He takes his time like he did with the others.  He’s not really an artist but he’s determined to make his pictures look decent.  Puck can’t see what Kurt’s doing but after the first few strokes he doesn’t need to.  The arc and drag of the brush against his skin can only form one shape. 

When Kurt sets the brush down Puck winds his arms around his slim waist and hauls him in.  It’s the first time he’s laid his hands on Kurt like this since the pool and the two experiences are nothing alike.  Before, Kurt bristled and snarled like a wild cat, but here he smiles against Puck’s lips and is as warm and sweet as honey.  Cool fingers against his cheeks and a smile against his lips, and Puck really thinks he could get used to this.  Get used to a Kurt who smiles and laughs and touches.  Kurt who is still the only one with smiles just for him.  Who got him a job and yells at him and says he’s sorry.  Kurt, who sat up with him half the night in a beaten up old wreck that he helps fix.  Kurt, who has always made him feel safe and happy and not alone even when neither of them knew it. 

Puck thinks he could actually love Kurt if he lets himself. 

Naturally this is the moment Mr. Hummel decides to come home.  He comes home and walks down the stairs to see his son in the lap of another boy who has his hands up Kurt’s shirt and gliding along the smooth skin of his back.

If it had been some random kid, chances are he might have turned around and pretend he never saw anything and then make a great deal of noise so the boys would have a chance to compose themselves.  But it isn’t some random kid, not at all.  Instead it’s Noah Puckerman and that makes all the difference in the world. 

Burt Hummel considers himself to be a reasonable man most of the time.  But this is a sight he will not suffer through.  He marches up to the boys who finally seem to be aware of his presence.  Kurt scrambles backwards off of Puck’s lap, blush creeping down under the collar of his shirt.  Puck stumbles to feet, mouth open and prepared to explain but Burt is in no mood to hear it. 

“I’ve done a lot for you, kid,” he manages to grind out, “gave you a job and everything.  But if this is how you go about protecting my boy then I think you best get out of my house before I throw you out.”

Everything stops. 

Puck can practically sense Kurt stiffening behind his back and wants more than anything that he hadn’t been there to hear his father say that.

“What?”  Quietly spoken, but not the sort of quiet that comes with heartbreak or fear.  Puck winces and turns around to look at Kurt.  The slighter boy is still as stone but his eyes are a storm in and of themselves.  They are dark and thunderous and every last scrap of blue in them blocked out by the clouds.  Puck wants to explain, opens his mouth to do so but Mr. Hummel beats him to it.

“This boy,” Mr. Hummel says and he grabs Puck by the arm and gives him a little shake, “was supposed to make sure no one gave you any trouble.  Keep you safe.  I know you’re strong and that you can look out for yourself.  He was just supposed to be an extra precaution.”  His eyes are almost as furious as Kurt’s but at the same time they don’t even come close.  “And this is not what I meant, sure as hell wasn’t what I wanted.”

“So,” Kurt says, voice calm and steely and scary as all hell if Puck’s being honest, “all this time you were just working for my father?”  His smile is bitter and sharp like fractured glass.  “You know what the worst part of all this is, Puck?  I would have been perfectly happy having you as a friend.  I _was_ your friend.  And even if you were pretending I’d still have been a friend to you.  But this,” he gestures between them with jerky movements, “this was just cruel.”  He laughs almost to himself, “What are you, anyway?  A whore?  I mean what possesses you to have sex with all of your _clients_?  Do you think it’s required of you or something?”

“Kurt-”

“Get out of my house.” 

Puck stares at the other boy for several moments while Kurt bends to pick up the paintbrushes and paints from the ground.  Mr. Hummel gives his arm a little jerk and Puck climbs the stairs and leaves without another word. 

The next morning before he showers he looks in the mirror at the flaking, smeared image of a heart on his forehead and slams his fist against the wall. 

 

***

 

Things almost go back to the way they were after that.  Everyone in glee club looks at him like he’s scum and refuses to speak to him.  Matt and Mike sometimes cast questioning looks his way, as if trying to figure out what happened but they never actually ask him outright.  Any attempts to speak to Kurt are met with either stony silence or violent retaliation by Mercedes, Tina, or on one memorable occurrence, Santana. 

They all watch Rachel and Finn sing about love or whatever to each other some more while Artie strums away on his guitar.  Puck absently wonders if he’s recording this, if there’s any chance he can get a CD now.  He doubts it and kicks himself for acting like such a loser. 

It goes without saying that he’s fired.  He tries waiting for Kurt at his locker but he never shows up and Puck has to face the fact that it’s over.  Without a job, he doesn’t have any money so he gives up looking for an apartment. 

Quinn doesn’t seem any more upset with him than she already was, so Puck spends as much time near her as he can.  Sometimes he brushes his fingers along her belly.  At first it makes her mad and she yells at him for being a pervert but one day she stops being harsh completely.  She just sits there and lets him touch her belly or press his ear against it trying to hear his little girl.  One time he opens his eyes with his ear against Quinn’s stomach and notices Kurt watching.  But Kurt’s not looking at him, his eyes are on Quinn and he’s smiling that ridiculously thankful smile Puck’s only seen a handful of times. 

Kurt gets a solo a few weeks after Mr. Hummel caught him in Puck’s lap.  It’s a song that requires a high F and everyone is beyond surprised when he hits it true and clear.  Everyone, that is, but Puck who just stares at him and feels stupidly proud of him for it.  The whole thing is stupid and it makes him feel pathetic.  Puck has never been this held up over anyone.  Not Quinn who he still thinks of as this model girl, perfect and ideal.  Not Santana who dumped him over his credit score. 

“Stop it,” Kurt says to him one day.  His arms are crossed and his expression annoyed and stand-off-ish, but his eyes are wounded and brittle when he says it.  Puck asks him what the hell he’s talking about and Kurt’s entire expression shifts back to the thundercloud it had been when he’d discovered that Puck had started getting close to him because daddy-dear had hired him as some sort of bodyguard.  “Stop looking at me like I have all the answers.  Like I can somehow make all your problems go away or something.  I have my own problems to deal with; I don’t need to add yours to them.”

If he was going to say more he doesn’t get the chance.  Mercedes swoops in and guides Kurt away with their arms looped together and promises of shopping and makeovers and smoothies.  The only upside is before they’re out of sight Kurt turns around and looks at Puck for just a second.  But that second is long enough for Puck to think that maybe Kurt misses him, too. 

Mr. Hummel is a bit less than pleased to see him at the garage after school.  He regards Puck from over the hood of someone’s Nissan and his expression is nothing short of murderous. 

“What do you want, kid?” he says when he finally slams the lid closed and wipes his hands on a rag he keeps at his waist.  “As I recall, we were pretty clear that you weren’t welcome around the Hummels anymore.  Now I understand you’re in that drama club or whatever with Kurt but I sure as hell don’t want to be seeing you ‘round here again.” 

“It wasn’t what you think,” Puck tries to explain.

Mr. Hummel raises an eyebrow and Puck plows on while he still has the courage to.  “I mean at first I played at bein’ his friend because he wouldn’t let me hang around otherwise but the whole,” he gestures stupidly, “ _thing_ you saw.  I mean, it has nothing to do with that.”

“Really now? You weren’t taking advantage of my boy who thought you cared about him?  Way I see it, the only thing that hurt my kid while you were on the job was _you_ and that’s not much incentive for me to let you near him ever again.” 

“I’m sorry you know.  I didn’t mean to,” he said lamely.

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t.  You’re a teenage boy.  You don’t mean for anything that happens to you.  You’re just a bunch of dumb idiots fumbling around and trying to figure everything out.  And I get that, I was there once.  And I’d be much more likely to forgive you if it weren’t my boy you were messing with.  Then again, if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be talking about it, would we?

For once, Puck can’t come up with a response.

“Look kid, there will be other girls… other boys.  But you lost your chance with this one.  So do yourself and everyone else involved a real big favor and just forget about it.  Put it behind you where the past belongs.  Because my boy can hold a grudge like nobody’s business and he doesn’t take kindly to heartbreak.  Not that he has all that much experience with it.”  Mr. Hummel shifts uncomfortably and pointedly doesn’t look at Puck, “so, Football, you should go home now.  I’ll mail you your last paycheck.  Not that you really deserve it.” 

And that seems like the end of it. The next month seems quiet compared to the ones before it.  Finn starts talking to him and Quinn again due to what can only be Rachel’s incessant nagging.  And while Kurt hasn’t forgiven him, he starts letting Puck get closer than five feet, starts letting him get a few words in now before walking away. 

It starts driving him crazy how much this is bothering him.  He’s Noah fucking Puckerman.  He’s not supposed to get all starry-eyed over some dude and he sure as hell isn’t supposed to keep pining after him like this. 

His mom told him once that love is like a surprise party.  Sometimes you get the feeling that it’s about to happen, but for the most part it comes out of nowhere and catches you off-guard.  She says that sometimes you don’t even know you’re falling in love until it’s too late.  She’d told him all of this while staring at her wedding photo, and Puck’s pretty sure he decided to never fall in love if that was what it got you.

Looks like she was right, though.  Because one minute Kurt was just this kid who smiled at him and was nice to him, and the next BAM he’s the star attraction of his night-time fantasies.  He starts going out of his way for Kurt’s attention, notices how if Kurt doesn’t think he’s looking he’ll smile whenever Puck does something nice for someone else.  Anytime he helps carry Artie, or holds a door open for someone, or whenever he’s near Quinn.  But as soon as he turns to see that smile head-on instead of out of the corner of his eye, Kurt’s expression drops into one that is completely apathetic and he turns away. 

Everything eventually falls into routine, like it’s wont to.  Puck hangs out with Mike, Matt, and Quinn now with Mike and Matt occasionally running off to hang out with Kurt or something. 

At least that’s where Puck assumes they go, he never asks and they never tell him. 

One day, Brittany brings face paint to school and makes Kurt draw a picture on her cheek.  Puck watches how Kurt’s smile turns almost wistful and hates everything at that moment.  Kurt draws a teddy bear on Brittany’s cheek, and it all could have ended there if Santana hadn’t made him write “Go Titans” on her, and then everyone wants a little doodle here or there. 

Puck almost expects not to get one, is ready to leave when Kurt sits down in the seat next to him and starts painting on him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kurt tells him partway through, “just because I’m not talking to you anymore doesn’t mean I hate you enough to make you feel left out.  Now sit still why I draw this stupid thing.” 

It’s a football and Puck laughs for what feels like hours when he sees it in the mirror.  Thanks God it wasn’t another heart because he doesn’t think he could have withstood that. 

He starts thinking if he works at it enough, everyone will eventually forgive him and then they can just all be fucking friends again.  So Puck forces himself to stop looking like a lovesick puppy every time he sees Kurt.  Starts making crude jokes that make everyone laugh.  He flirts and laughs and it feels good.  Puck had learned math was kind of okay since he and Mike are in the same class. 

Since they got (another) new nurse he hasn’t been able to skip out and sleep through it anymore.  Mike’s fun and Mike’s good friends with Kurt (shut up he’s over that, leave him alone) and eventually when he catches Kurt smiling from the corner of his eye and turns to see it Kurt doesn’t hide it away.  Looks him right in the eye and smiles at him. 

And then one day, his mom comes up to his room and says there’s a boy outside calling for him.  Puck figures it’s Mike and tromps down the stairs to see what the fuck he wants. 

It’s not Mike though. 

Puck slams the front door open and is part way down the steps before he notices that it isn’t Mike and his piece of crap car.  It’s Kurt Hummel and he’s sitting on the hood of some sleek shiny yellow thing with racing stripes and Puck nearly loses his shit. 

Kurt’s grinning widely and tracing his fingers along the metal.  “You’d put so much work into her already,” he’s says.  “I didn’t have it in me to just leave it like that.” 

Puck’s only half listening, circling around what had been his piece of crap baby, letting his hands brush against sleek new paint.  He looks at Kurt in blatant disbelief when he eventually makes his way back around.

“How long have you been working on this?” 

Kurt shrugs, “Pretty much the whole time.  At first I really, _really_ wanted to trash it but I am my father’s son so…” he says and shrugs.   “It gave me something to do.”  As if that explains it, like that really explains why Kurt would dedicate all this time and money on what was _Puck’s_ car. 

The whole time, almost the whole damn time.  Jesus. 

“The way I see it,” Kurt continues, “she’s still yours.  If you want her.”  Now that Puck focuses on him it’s obvious Kurt looks a little nervous.  As if he’s not sure he’s welcome here, if the damn car is even welcome here. 

“Duh I still want it!”  He says and brings his hands up and traces the shape of a heart onto Kurt’s forehead, loves that Kurt doesn’t flinch away, how his eyes widen in surprise.  “Dude, you’re fucking awesome.” 

That helplessly amused expression that Kurt seemed to always wear when he was around creeps onto Kurt’s face.  “I wasn’t talking about me, Puck.  I was talking about the car.  You know, the bright shiny thing I just brought you?”

“What if I want both?”  He says as he waggles his eyebrows…or at least. tries to waggle his eyebrows, but Finn always said that it never actually worked and all Puck ever ended up doing was scrunching and un-scrunching his forehead.  But Kurt seems to see what he’s trying to do and snickers despite himself. 

“I don’t know,” Kurt says but he sounds like he’s been considering it for about as long as he’s been working on the car, “I’ve always wanted to be wooed.”

“Wooed?  Dude tell me what that is and I am all for that!  It’s some fancy sex trick, right?” 

Kurt laughs.  “Sure, Puck.  That’s exactly what it is.”


End file.
